


Bought By Love

by Silvandar



Series: Bratva On Ice! - OtaYuri Russian Mob AU [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: AU, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Anal, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Character Death, Criminal Activities, Daddy Kink, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Erotica, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Heavy BDSM, Italian Mafia, Kidnapping, Knifeplay, Love, Multi, Murder, Murder Husbands, Oral Sex, Pole Dancing, Pretty Woman References, Prostitution, Russian Mafia, Serial Killers, Sex, Torture, VictUuri, Violence, bought by love, chris giacometti is a mob enforcer, mob boss otabek altin, otayuri - Freeform, prostitute yuri plistesky, these boys are going to kill me i swear to god, victor is a hitman, yuuri k is a psychopath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-07-28 04:14:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 37,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16233995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silvandar/pseuds/Silvandar
Summary: Otabek Altin is the head of a powerful mob family in Milan, Italy. Yuri Plisetsky is an erotic dancer and sometimes whore. A lapdance turns into something far more interesting, and changes both their lives forever.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I missed the Yurio On Ice Mafia week, wasn't even aware of the show at that time! I thought that the idea was really fun though, and started brewing this up after reading a few of the excellent mafia week fics. 
> 
> Is it weird that I automatically wanted to make Victuuri into a terrifying pair of psychopaths?
> 
> The Altin family tree is weird in this, don't ask.
> 
> Edit: obviously, the Thieves Code of Conduct forbids marriage and family, but I claim artistic license, without which there is no fanfiction!  
> [links to art and Social Media accounts](https://linktr.ee/artofbeccaj)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going back over for a polish, now it's complete!
> 
> Kotyonok is a term of endearment in Russian and means "kitten".

Otabek Altin yawned, barely focusing on the dancer in front of him. Big boobs and long hair, enough sass to make the man sat next to him happy, but to Otabek, utterly boring. He tuned back into the report Christophe Giacometti was delivering, refocusing his brain into Italian. The music was loud and the lights a pulsing mix of red and purple that made his head ache. He wasn't in the mood for this.

“That's the last of it. So what do you want to do about the Chinese?”

“20 per cent. No lower.”

Chris clicked his tongue, his face carefully impassive. “They really won't like that.”

Dark chocolate eyes narrowed and Otabek tilted his chin in the direction of his second in command. “Then I suggest you take Victor and _make_ them like it.”

Swiss men shouldn't be able to go pale, but Chris managed it. “ _V-Victor?_ Isn't that... well, a bit much?”

Otabek turned his attention to his cousin fully and raised an eyebrow. “If you don't like that option, that just motivates you more, right?”

Wincing, Giacometti nodded and spoke to the girl serving drinks to their private room. As Otabek turned back to the small stage and yawned again, he caught a snatch of their conversation and smiled. Something about requesting a blonde, male lapdancer instead of the woman currently on the stage. Wordlessly, Otabek offered her a hundred euro bill as she was dismissed, and she grabbed it with a big fake smile. She'd probably been hoping for a lot more.

The lights changed as the curtain moved, suggesting a new dancer was on the way, shifting into a mix of flickering white and silver sparkles and then flaring into a yellow tint; perfect for highlighting blonde hair. Despite himself, Otabek found himself sitting up a little more. Beside him, Giacometti was putting away his paperwork and nodding at the change in his boss's demeanour. Official meeting over, time for Altin to have some much needed fun.

Pale skin and blonde hair, and the biggest green eyes Otabek had  _ever_ seen; the new dancer slipped out from behind the curtain and wrapped himself around the pole, not even making eye contact before he had dropped into a graceful dip. His movements sinuous, he seemed to almost caress the steel before bringing himself upright and facing his audience for the first time.

Otabek had stopped breathing.

With a soft chuckle, Giacometti rose and gestured the bodyguards to wait outside. Patting his boss on the shoulder, he murmured “apparently he's Russian” into Otabek's ear then escorted the serving girl out as well. He leaned comfortably against the door to prevent anyone else from entering the room, still chuckling. It had been a long time since he'd seen _that_ look on the Kazakh's face.

 

_Oh damn... he's really hot._

Yurio couldn't remember the last time he'd been asked to dance for someone this beautiful. Rich, too, judging by the bodyguards and the hundred he'd tossed for a dancer he had no interest in.

Uncoiling from the pole, he stepped off the stage and stood in front of the older man, his hips moving unconsciously in time with his music. Dark eyes met his, already hooded with desire, and he smirked, a feisty expression that just made the man look even hungrier.

_This is going to be fun..._

 

As the blonde approached him, the smirk on his face telegraphed his reaction to the Kazakh. Otabek knew the difference between when someone found him attractive, and when they were being paid to. Leaning back in his chair, he crooked a finger and the slim young man let the motion of his hips guide him to _almost_ touching Otabek's body as he eased into his lap. Up close, those eyes turned out to be almost turquoise, and his skin was perfect despite the makeup. Unable to restrain it, Otabek growled softly as the dancer turned his back, letting him have a good look as he writhed.

The Kazakh sank his hands into the wide chair as the blonde bent over completely, exposing a tiny thong and beautifully rounded buttocks. A hand trailed down between his cheeks for a moment then up to his chest as he turned again, kneeling on either side of his client's thighs. No mistaking the bulge, the dancer was enjoying himself. They both were.

“Do you do private work?”

The request almost stopped Yurio in his tracks, only his training kept his body moving as he processed the question. He had to shift his brain back into Russian for it, which was surprisingly thrilling. A wealthy _Russian_ client who was this good looking?

“For you, daddy? Anything...”

The growl this time was loud enough for Yurio to hear it over the music.

 

Giacometti jumped as the door opened. “That was... quick?”

“Bring the car to the back.”

“Ah... yes boss.”

 

“ _Yurriiiioooo..._ are you _serious?_ You can't go home with him?!”

Pausing from grabbing his fluffy leopard print coat and matching bag, Yurio stared up at his friend in surprise. The taller dancer grabbed him and dragging him into the corner, lowering her voice hurridly.

“Don't you know who he _is?”_

“He's rich and gorgeous. It's been forever since I got a John who didn't make me want to bleach my skin afterwards. What's the problem?”

“He's _Otabek Altin!_ The _gangster!_ The guy with him is Christophe Giacometti! The guy who's supposed to have killed that Triad Lana was screwing? They're...”

“They're rich, gorgeous _and_ powerful. Don't piss them off. Got it.”

The other dancer shook her head in disgust. “Does anything scare you?”

“Bad hygiene!” he shouted as he headed to the door. Her laughter followed him out into the night.

 

A flurry of blonde and leopard print got into the back of the limousine, and Yurio stared around him in awe. The huge black car pulled away from the curb with a purr, dim lights illuminating the occupants.

The beautiful, silver haired man reclining opposite was eyeing him with a level of platonic curiosity, swirling clear liquid in a glass. Giving him a slight smile, Yurio turned his attention to his new client and blinked as he found a drink being offered to him. Vodka, top shelf by the smell.

“здоровье” Otabek smiled, and Yurio inclined his head and touched their glasses together. Opposite, the other man murmured the response, his accent sounding suspiciously natural.

“You're also Russian?” Yurio asked the platinum blonde in his native language, curiously. Sea blue eyes fixed on him in astonishment at being spoken to directly, then he smiled.

“St. Petersburg born. I'm Victor” he replied in the same language, then turned his gaze to Otabek. To Yurio's confusion, he said “Yuuri wants you to – and I quote – pick up your fucking text messages.”

The brunette clicked his tongue, pulling out his phone. Glancing at it, he selected a contact and set it on speaker, tossing it onto the seat next to Victor. After two rings, an irate sounding voice answered, speaking Italian in what sounded like a heavy Japanese accent.

“I don't know why you bother taking this thing out with you, you never answer it. I'd have more luck talking to the cat.”

“I was working” Otabek stretched his hand out towards Yurio, pulling him gently against him once their fingers had entwined. Victor smiled again and politely looked down, idly stroking the edge of Otabek's phone as if he was trying to touch the angry sounding man on the other end.

“Chris said you were on your way back with company, but then turned his _fucking_ phone off before I could get details. How far out are you?”

“I'll tell him to stop doing that. He only does it to piss you off.”

Victor made an irritated grumbling noise at that comment, and Otabek poked him with a toe to make him smile again. Yurio snuggled into his embrace, the strong fingers twisting in his hair making him feel warm and cosy. It seemed his client wasn't going to do anything in front of his – bodyguard? Associate? Whatever the one called Victor was. Relaxing, the blonde sipped his vodka and smiled.

His nerves were starting to settle, although the potential for tonight to end badly was still high. He had no idea where they were going, and as Otabek replied “about half an hour” he winced inwardly. That meant somewhere outside of Milan, and zero chance of escaping on foot if things took a nasty turn. He slipped his hand into his bag and set his phone into safe mode – a handy app that turned his GPS on and would contact a few of his close friends with the details if he didn't check in every four hours.

The Japanese man was asking questions about him, he realised, and his client was giving simple instructions for setting up his suite. This other Yuuri must be some sort of housekeeper.

“You can finish for the night once I'm back.” Otabek hung up the phone, and Victor pocketed it, pursing his lips.

“Can I borrow Yuuri once you're done with him?”

Yurio felt a surge of panic, then realised he wasn't the subject of that request when Otabek rolled his eyes and said “yes, but stay at the house and don't make a mess. He's got a busy day booked in tomorrow, I need him to be able to walk.”

The platinum blonde laughed out loud, a happy sound that made Yurio smile. “What about me, do I need to walk tomorrow?”

Otabek ignored that, shifting his focus back to Yurio. Touching his glass, he raised an eyebrow. “Vodka not to your taste, kotyonok?”

The pet name made Yurio's heart thud in his chest, a blush rising in his cheeks. Finding his voice, he nodded and sipped. “I don't like to get drunk when I'm working” he explained, “but I will if you want.”

“It doesn't bother me” Otabek finished his drink and went back to stroking Yurio's hair, seemingly lost in a world of his own. Judging by how hard his heart was beating, Yurio guessed he was trying to distract himself while they were in company. Deciding not to make it easy on his client, he shifted position, 'accidentally' covering most of Otabek's lap with his coat, and then let his fingers stray over his client's thigh. A soft rumble from the brunette told him he'd been right to tease, and he let his hand stray further up. Victor was, once again, looking at his phone in an attempt to politely disappear from their awareness.

The car stopped before he could explore much more, and the driver opened the door for them. Victor stepped out first, offering Yurio his hand. Taking it, Yurio stared at the manor house in front of him in astonishment, a soft sound coming from him lips. Victor laughed and then Otabek had his arm around him again, pulling him close and letting him take a good look before they made their way across the gravel to the brightly lit porch.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I can't believe how many hits and kudos this already has! Thank you so much! ^_^!

The house was _huge_. Three floors high, with two wings spreading out from the main building. Yurio took in the grounds surrounding the house, realising he could make out several other outbuildings as well. One was obviously a pool, he could tell from the massive arching windows and the elaborate planting inside. There was a low building nearby with big doors opening to admit the limo, and he saw flashes of bright, expensive looking cars. The lights of the city were faint, no more than a soft glow visible above the high walls encircling the estate.

Otabek piloted him into the lobby as he gawked, and after a few moments he heard an irate Japanese accent which drew his attention. The other Yuuri was taking Otabek's coat, scolding him like a mother hen. Glancing at Victor, he saw the tall Russian staring at the smaller man with worshipful adoration. He refocused, taking in the slender build and huge brown eyes of the angry man. Cute.

He surrendered his coat and bag, noting where they were placed in the hallway as Otabek spoke quietly to one side with Giacometti. Then he felt warm fingers gripping his arm firmly, and he was led up the giant staircase towards the right hand wing. Yuuri was talking to him, and it took a few moments for him to refocus.

“I'm sorry?”

Big brown eyes surveyed him, and a thought stole over him. _There's something... off... about this man._ He raised an eyebrow, forcing himself to meet that strangely blank gaze.

“I _said_ there's a shower in the en suite and I've left some clothes for you on the bed. Wash up and get changed, Otabek will join you once he's finished talking to Chris.”

“T-thank you... ah...”

“Katsuki.”

“Thank you, Mr Katsuki.”

“Just Katsuki” he moved his eyes over Yurio again, a slight frown on his face. “Have you eaten today?”

“Uhh.. no, no I haven't” he'd planned to eat once he got his tips for the night.

Katsuki nodded.”I'll bring up some food. Do you eat meat?”

There was a delicate pause, and then suddenly they were both laughing. Even though the laugh didn't touch his eyes, the sound transformed the Japanese man and suddenly Yurio understood some of Victor's expression from earlier. When he wasn't shouting or being terrifyingly blank, Yuuri Katsuki was quite breathtaking.

 

The suite was extensive, with a queen sized bed and low couch and a separate ensuite boasting a complicated looking shower and a bath large enough to probably count as a hot tub. Yuuri provided something that looked like plain chicken pasta, but had layers of flavour that elevated the dish. Aware that his stomach had started growling the moment he smelled food, he almost snatched the bowl and started eating, sat cross legged on the bed.

Yuuri waited for the bowl patiently, leaning on the door and watching him inhale the food. After a few moments Yurio's eating speed slowed, and he realised he probably looked like a savage. He blushed and apologised, remembering to swallow before speaking.

“Don't be sorry. I know what it's like to be hungry.”

Yurio eyed him curiously, knowing better than to ask questions. Yuuri caught the look anyway and shrugged.

“Most of the people who work for Otabek have a... complicated history. I spent most of my life on the streets, before I started working for him.” He pushed himself up and collected the empty bowl. “Toothbrush under the bathroom sink. Shower and get that makeup off. He doesn't like pretence when he's in private.”

“You... you sound like you're used to... my kind of company.”

Yuuri paused, giving Yurio a speculative look. “Actually no” he said, and something in the blonde's body purred in delight. “You're the first... company... he's had in years.”

Yurio struggled to bite back his smile.

 

Stripping out of his club costume, Yurio stepped carefully into the cubicle and murmured in pleasure as hot water cascaded over him. Lathering his hair and stripping the makeup and glitter off his body with lightly scented soap, he luxuriated in a shower that actually worked, and was consistently boiling hot.

He was still there twenty minutes later when Otabek arrived in the suite.

Stepping into the shower behind the dancer, Otabek curled his lip into a smile as Yurio pressed back against him. Running his hands through the mass of water darkened blonde hair, Otabek murmured as the smaller man rubbed against his groin, a slow, languid movement that made the blood head due south, thickening him against the body pressed against him. Growling softly, he let his hands drift over pale skin before turning the younger man and gazing down into his beautiful green eyes.

The upturned pout was irresistible, so he didn't bother resisting. Yurio moaned as their lips met, and to his surprise, Otabek pulled back with a frown.

“Don't fake it. I don't want any of that shit.”

“I'm sorry…”

Otabek kissed him again, and this time the blonde focused on the touch instead of performing for his client. In moments they were wrapped around each other, tongues dancing. When Yurio moaned again it was breathy and full of lust.

“Bed… please, daddy…”

The transition to the bedroom was slow and involved bumping against walls and doors as they devoured each others mouths, hands trying to touch every part of each other. Eventually, Otabek ended up on his back on the bed, Yurio straddling his hips. Skilful, slender hands found the rock hard length between Otabek's thighs, working there for long moments before his hot mouth followed.

“Fuck…”

Long, tortuously slow licks brought out that deep growl again, and Otabek's head dropped back onto the pillows. Sinking his hands into Yurio's hair, he closed his eyes as the blonde hollowed his cheeks around him. Pale fingers cupped his balls and sank lower, stroking and pressing against his perineum. Otabek cursed quietly, eyes rolling back in his head and his hands tightening in Yurio's hair.

“ _Fuck…_ fuck that's good…”

Pausing only enough to moisten his fingers with saliva and precum, Yurio delivered soft licks to the head as his fingertip gently explored the tight ring of muscle between his client's cheeks. His instincts were telling him that Otabek was very much a top, but that didn't mean he didn't enjoy a bit of play.

Within minutes, he was sliding a single finger in and out of the Kazakh's tight hole, rewarded by ever more filthy sounding foreign curse words each time he let the pressure stray upwards to his prostate. Mouth seeking his erection again, Yurio took him as far down his throat as he could manage and let his tongue sweep the head on each upward thrust.

When Otabek came, the room echoed with curses in at least three languages.

Swallowing, Yurio left his position between tanned thighs with some reluctance, running soft kisses up Otabek's abdomen and chest. For long moments, as the older man regained his wits, he indulged himself in a long look at his client.

Otabek was built like a dancer himself, but his upper body was thick with muscle. Sitting astride his hips, carefully avoiding his over-sensitive cock, the blonde ran his hands over the network of scars and tattoos that seemed to cover every inch of his client's torso. He could identify several old bullet wounds, as well as knife slashes across his chest and stomach. His reading the various mob tattoos confirmed the rumours of his client's high rank and his reputation as an honourable but ruthless killer. Growing up the way he did, Yurio was no stranger to violence or death. The scars and tattoos didn't frighten him: on the contrary, rather than speaking of death, they told him a story of an absolute determination to live.

“Kiss me...”

Responding immediately, Yurio leaned down and captured the Kazakh's lips, feeling a hot tongue sweep inside his mouth. Otabek was deliberately tasting himself, he realised. Purring at the touch, the blonde cupped his client's jaw, letting his fingers move up into his hair.

Rough hands moved over his hips, drawing him back down onto Otabek's groin. He was already starting to harden again, and his intentions this time were clear as he let his hips grind upwards.

Pulling back from the kiss, Yurio looked down into his eyes, pools of dark chocolate, pupils blown wide with desire. He remembered what Otabek had said about not wanting fake, and so he didn't fight the urge to run soft kisses over his client's cheeks and forehead. Otabek was stunning, and despite the reality of their situation as whore and john, Yurio was enjoying himself immensely.

“Top drawer.”

It occurred to Yurio, as he retrieved lube and condoms, that Otabek was being almost monosyllabic when he wasn't cursing in what had to be his native tongue. Secretly pleased that he'd managed to short circuit his client's language centres already, he resumed his position on his hips, nibbling on the edge of a condom wrapper salaciously.

“Shall I get ready for you, daddy?”

“Yes. On back.”

Definitely fused a few brain functions there. His accent was heavier too, almost purring his words. Leaning down for one last kiss, Yurio murmured his agreement and felt his client shudder, fingers briefly clenching on his thighs before they switched positions.

Otabek knelt between the blonde's knees, his hands almost idly stroking himself as he watched Yurio lube his fingers and ease his hand between his cheeks. Arching up so his client could get a good look at what he was doing, the dancer spread himself wide and began teasing his entrance, working his way up to four fingers with soft moans and gasps. Watching him was intoxicating, and by the time he was stretched enough, the Kazakh was panting and shivering with lust.

When he entered the blonde, they both cried out in pleasure.

True enough, Otabek was a natural, experienced top. His thrusts were fast and deep, angling himself so he could hit Yurio's sweet spot as often as possible. Their teeth clashed in breathless kisses, the blonde barely aware of how much noise he was making. Otabek was thick and long, and deliberately hilting himself with each thrust. All Yurio needed to do was relax and enjoy himself; he raked his nails down his client's back and let his cries of bliss echo throughout the suite.

The blonde came without either of them laying a hand on his cock, and he took Otabek over the top with him.

 

Movement in the room woke him, and Yurio opened his eyes slightly, wincing at the morning sun and checking out his surroundings before he telegraphed that he was awake. Otabek was gone, but Katsuki was moving around the room, cleaning and straightening up. As Yurio watched him, he cocked his head towards the bed.

“There's breakfast in the kitchen for you. Get dressed and come down when you're ready. You can take a shower if you want.”

The blonde sat up, deliberately letting the blankets fall away from his torso. He already knew Katsuki was into men, but he wanted to see what reaction he would get. Professional curiosity.

The reaction was... nothing. A glance at the movement, then the blank gaze swept back to his tasks as he padded out of the room. Not even a twitch.

Weird guy.

 

Half an hour later, Yurio found himself sat on a high stool, eating cold meat cuts and sweet pastries that were still hot from the oven, a little ocean of calm in a sea of activity. Something was obviously being planned for the day, there were two chefs in the kitchen working on a dozen different dishes at once, and Katsuki was directing the chaos throughout the house with a combination of shouts and encouragement. People rushed around carrying furniture, crockery and alcohol to various parts of the lower floor.

Half way through his meal, Victor slipped into the kitchen and stole a pastry from a tray being finished. The chef turned to yell at the thief, clocked the tall Russian and went pale, stammering a terrified apology despite the smile Victor delivered to him. Interesting.

Unexpectedly, the silver haired man took a seat next to Yurio, watching fondly as Katsuki darted into the kitchen to check in with the chefs.

“Are you having a party?” Yurio felt he could get away with some curiosity, and after all, it was pretty obvious what the answer was.

“Mmm. Otabek's hosting a cousin's engagement tonight. It's all a bit last minute, so Yuuri's rushed and stressed.”

Yurio bit into a delicate strawberry pastry with a smile. Stressed seemed to be the Japanese man's default state.

“Have you seen Otabek this morning?” Victor asked, and Yurio raised an eyebrow, shaking his head.

“He was gone when I woke up.”

“OK. I'll find out his plans for you today” Victor drew out his phone and made an unhappy noise as he noticed low battery. “Yuuri... can I have your battery pack?”

Katsuki appeared at his shoulder, speaking in rapid fire Japanese as he tossed over a slim black charger. Victor replied in the same language, his smile returning despite the furious expression on the other man's face. Glaring at the chefs and saying something too angry sounding to be a compliment, the smaller man disappeared again.

“Turns out, the party for forty is actually a party for sixty” Victor offered as an explanation. “I should probably get Chris involved, or Yuuri will end up killing someone.”

Yurio wasn't entirely convinced he was joking.

 

Otabek appeared a short while later, snagging some leftovers from Yurio's tray and leaning against the table. He eyed the chaos in his kitchen warily, before leaning in and twisting his fingers gently into Yurio's hair. Surprised at the public display, Yurio blinked at him for a long moment before offering him another bite of pastry to cover his confusion. The brunette calmly let himself be fed, his eyes hooded but gentle.

“My driver, Raul, will take you home when you've finished eating.” Yurio felt a sting somewhere. He chided himself for being ridiculous, and then gaped as Otabek slid a thick envelope into his hand.

“I know we agreed a price, but I didn't like it. Wasn't high enough.”

“Ah... t-thank you, Mr Altin.”

“Otabek. Just Otabek.”

“OK...”

The brunette paused, considering his next words. Yurio filled the time by tucking the envelope into his top, wondering just how much over the five hundred they'd agreed on it was, to make it so thick. Five hundred euros was already twice his normal rate for an evening.

“Chris is going to offer you a private cell phone.”

 _Oh?_ Yurio bit his lip, the potential of a repeat performance of last night making him flush.

“There's a catch.”

“W-what is it?”

Otabek leaned back, holding eye contact as he spoke. “No other clients, for as long as you're working for me. I'll guarantee to see you at least once a week, and I'll match that envelope each time. If you're interested, take the phone.”

 

“You don't call him. Ever. He calls you.”

“I understand.”

“No other clients. He told you that, right?”

“He did. I agreed.”

"You can still work at the club or whatever, but no private clients.”

“I said I agreed.”

“ _Tch_... If you get into any... trouble, give me a call from this phone. I'm in the contacts as CG.”

“T-thank you.”

Giacometti gave him a speculative look. “You managed to make quite an impression. I can't remember the last time he gave someone a phone.”

Emboldened by the sudden twist in his fortunes, Yurio nodded. “Katsuki said he doesn't have company often.”

“You talked to Katsuki?” The taller man sounded surprised.

“Not much. He's nice. So's Victor.”

The resulting astonished expression and laugh/coughing fit made Yurio wonder yet again what Victor _did_ for Otabek. His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of his driver, and Giacometti disappeared back into the house with a slight wave.

 

Mid twenties, Italian and endlessly chatty, his driver Raul picked him up from the kitchen door in a dark blue porsche convertible, roof down to enjoy the summer sun. Once Yurio confirmed his address and started to relax, Raul offered to take him the long way so he could enjoy the car. He agreed immediately, shoving his sunglasses over his eyes and stretching his arms above his head in delight.

The thought that this could become a regular experience made his heart light.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Come and say hi on Tumblr!](http://silvandar.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm obsessed with this fic now. No hope for me. I'm even drawing art for it.

The sound of voices drew Yurio to the patio, sipping on the banana smoothie he'd snagged for breakfast. Talking outside usually meant it was safe to join Otabek for a morning cuddle – the only part of the house he wasn't allowed to enter was the massive study on the ground floor. Padding outside on bare feet, he found his client reclining on a sun lounger and talking with Giacometti and Victor. When the Kazakh extended a hand to him, he curled up happily in his lap and leaned against his chest, purring softly as he felt a hand slip into his hair.

He eyed Victor curiously. He'd rarely seen the silver haired Russian so much as mildly dishevelled, but today he looked like he'd come second in a bullfight. A large bruise covered the left side of his face and he had a split lip. Grazes on his cheek and neck met a bandage around his chest, visible under his loose linen shirt. When he sipped his coffee, his knuckles were raw and two of his fingers were splinted. He tipped Yurio a wink as he saw him looking.

“I still don't like it” Giacometti had paused as Yurio was invited to join them, now he seemed to accept the presence of the blonde and continued his conversation. “It's too bold of them. It's like they didn't even care that they were in our territory.”

“They cared afterwards” Victor said, with a small smile. Giacometti made a _tch_ noise that Yurio had learned to recognise as _that's not the point and you know it._ Beneath him, Otabek stirred a little and took a pull on his own smoothie.

“Keep an eye on it” the Kazakh rumbled, his voice calm and his expression peaceful. Giacometti made another _tch_ noise, and Victor shrugged.

“I still think you should just let me take care of it.”

“You'd make too much mess. We don't need to start a war just to make a point.”

Victors turn for a noise, which Yurio translated into _I think you're wrong but I'm not going to argue because you're the boss._ The blonde wriggled a bit, getting more comfortable tucked into Otabek's side.

In the three months since they'd met, Yurio's world had been turned upside down. He was still getting used to the changes in his life, and forced himself to maintain a mantra of caution against becoming too comfortable with five star living. He was aware of his position as Otabek's favourite, but he was still just a whore and he made sure never to forget that. Even though the rest of Otabek's immediate group treated him as part of the household, and continued business conversations in front of him.

Katsuki appeared and shoved a phone at Giacometti before sitting on Victor's knee. The Russian looped an arm around his waist, resting his nose against the smaller man's arm with a contented noise. Giacometti left the patio, talking in rapid German as he began an ambling wander through the grass, needing to be in motion whenever he dealt with a call.

“You still look like shit” Katsuki told the silver haired Russian, deliberately poking his bruised cheek.

“Thank you, my love” Victor winced at the poke, but didn't move away. Beside him, Otabek chuckled.

“Next time I should go with you, if you're going to get battered. You're getting soft in your old age.”

Yurio blinked in surprise as Victor nodded mournfully. “I could have used you there, to be honest. I wasn't expecting five of them.”

Japanese noises were a lot harder to interpret, but the one from Katsuki was unmistakably the noise for _you're an idiot but I love you._

The expression on Yurio's face must have given away his curiosity, because Otabek chuckled again and then offered a slight explanation. “Katsuki has more than one skill set.”

“Ah...” there wasn't much more he could say to that.

 

_Three months ago_

The envelope had been full of bills, and Yurio had sat on his bed counting them with tears in his eyes. They'd agreed five hundred for the night, an extortionate price that he'd felt crazy even suggesting, but Otabek had accepted without question.

He'd paid double.

After the first month, Yurio had earned more money than he'd normally see in a year. Otabek's promise of “at least once a week” had turned out to be more like three times a week, and any time he'd asked Yurio to stay at the house and spend consecutive nights, he'd added another five hundred for each day.

There was no doubt, the head of the Italian branch of the Bratski Krug was becoming addicted to him.

His mantra had started then; a daily reminder in the mirror that this wouldn't last, that no infatuation of any client ever did. That he was nothing but street meat who'd unexpectedly become a favourite dish for a while.

It was essential for his mental and physical health that he didn't get used to being a rich man's pet. Still, he stopped turning on his alert app after the second meeting.

 

The best part of his new life, without a doubt, was Otabek himself.

Yurio was used to demanding clients who wanted to do deranged things to him, and had been prepared for the worst. Finishing a job with bruises and broken ribs wasn't unusual for him, and he considered it an unfortunate part of the work. Otabek hadn't done anything like that.

Instead, he'd seemed to like providing as much pleasure as he received. Their first night together had been pure lust, on both parts. It had felt dangerously close to mutual enjoyment, something Yurio was automatically deeply suspicious of. The next meeting had been the same, only with more passion and less urgency. The one after that had been even better.

Yurio's mantra had become something like a prayer, because he desperately wanted to stay on this man's arm, and that was so risky a feeling and so far outside of his experience that he didn't know what to do with it.

 

Outside of the bedroom, Otabek continued to demonstrate a gentle side which made keeping emotional distance even harder.

The Kazakh seemed to thrive on routine and organisation. He rose at dawn, no matter what time they'd eventually fallen asleep. He would take a quick shower then disappear into his office until mid morning, when Giacometti would arrive and Katsuki would take them both breakfast. The few times the office door had been left open, Yurio had overheard snatches of conversation in several languages, Otabek's voice lilting and purring in whichever tongue he was using at the time. His intelligence and confidence in his business was obvious, even if Yurio couldn't understand all the words.

Lunch was preceded by a thirty minute work out and another shower. The Kazakh was slightly obsessed with being clean and presentable.

When he didn't need to multitask, Otabek would eat lunch with Yurio tucked under his arm on the huge couch in the central lounge, or on a sun lounger out on the patio. They'd feed each other bits of their meals and talk quietly of things that mutually interested in them. Yurio discovered that the brunette shared his love of winter sports, and they both had Views about the disgrace that was popular music. Discovering that their tastes aligned in entertainment opened up yet another another vista, and they usually spent an hour or so making trivial but satisfying conversation, with Yurio sometimes reading snippets of news from his twitter feed. Otabek didn't touch social media, but he was more than happy for Yurio to be online as long as the blonde never mentioned his location, or his social circle, in any of his posts.

The afternoons were usually spent either in his office with Giacometti and Victor, or off the estate. Sometimes Yurio would be asked to wait for him, other times Raul would take him home.

Time spent at home were the difficult parts – nights spent alone in his shitty apartment, listening to the neighbours fighting and smelling the damp on the walls. He considered moving, but knew that would mean starting to rely on the money from Otabek, something he didn't dare do. Instead, he focused on getting himself straightened out financially.

He cleared his debts and even managed to get out from under his loan shark after the first few weeks, with an unexpected helping hand from Victor. Yurio's meeting to pay off the shark ended badly, leaving the blonde with a black eye and a split lip, and still owing several thousand euros in 'interest' that had mysteriously appeared on the account. Otabek was distinctly unimpressed by this turn of events, and a few days later Victor arrived at Yurio's door with a closed contract for the loan and a refund of the last payment, as well as slightly blood stained hands. Yurio hadn't seen or heard from the shark again, and the harassment he'd been receiving from his old pimps from turning down jobs disappeared as well.

After a while, he finally picked up on the rumours about him belonging to Otabek Altin, and realised that the Kazakh had been taking steps to keep him safe when he wasn't at the house. His mantra became increasingly desperate.

Six weeks after meeting Otabek, he quit working at the club.

By the second month, he'd been given his own suite of rooms in the east wing, on the floor above Otabek's. The consecutive nights had become every night, so he told himself that the rooms were a simple way for him to stay out of everyone's hair during the day. South facing and beautifully decorated, he had a tiny kitchen, a bathroom nearly as big as Otabek's, a small lounge and a large bedroom. He became best friends with the Siamese cat, Potya, who seemed to rule the house almost as absolutely as Katsuki, and she decided to move into his suite.

He spent his days swimming in the huge, heated pool, working out in the small gym beside it, doing yoga or playing video games in his lounge or just relaxing on the patio, soaking up the sun. No one wanted anything from him, and no one seemed to judge or object to his presence. When Raul was around, he spent time chatting to the driver in the garage, helping him wash the cars or just watching him work. The cheerful Italian turned out to be Otabek's mechanic as well as his preferred chauffeur, and had endless stories about his years in the army, usually involving fixing trucks and jeeps under fire, or making cultural faux pas in middle eastern brothels.

If he was hanging around the main house during the day, Yurio would usually find himself talking with the various off duty guards, or playing cards with Victor if the Russian was around. His continued enjoyment of Victor's company baffled most of Otabek's men, since they avoided the lanky platinum blonde like the plague. 

Shortly after he was given the suite, Otabek asked him to move out of his shitty flat, and the cash payments became a weekly allowance into his account, with a separate credit card for clothes shopping, trips out and personal expenses. When he'd checked the limit on the card, he'd had to go and lie down for a while to get over the shock. 

 

It wasn't until part way through the third month that Yurio found out why so many people were terrified of Katsuki, and _everyone_ was afraid of Victor. It didn't really affect his affection for either of them, but it did put things into perspective.

Victor turned out to be Otabek's primary hit man, and Katsuki had a background that was even more alarming.

The revelations had come during a late breakfast, which Yurio was with Katsuki on the balcony of the private suite the housekeeper shared with his husband in the west wing. Yurio had been working his way down a plate of American style pancakes when Victor arrived home, covered almost head to foot in blood. He was already stripping off as he came through the door, and Katsuki leaped up with a yell about blood getting on the floor.

Yurio watched in horrified fascination as the smaller man gathered up bloody clothing without a flinch, exclaiming over what was obviously a large knife wound on Victor's ribs, and generally fussing over him in an aggressive but affectionate way. Victor stood calmly through the torrent of Japanese and the removal of his clothes, eyes oddly unfocused. Only when Katsuki was trying to nudge him in the direction of the shower did he say anything, and that was a soft murmur in Japanese that brought a deep flush to Katsuki's cheeks.

Breakfast was cut abruptly short that day.

 

Curiosity gnawed at the blonde over the incident, and the following afternoon during their usual poker game, he felt confident enough to ask how Victor was healing.

“Oh fine, fine. Yuuri has great skill with a needle and thread.” Victor never called him Katsuki, he was the only person Yurio had met who used his first name.

“You looked pretty terrible yesterday.”

“Mmm. Call.”

Yurio responded, and tutted as Victor effortlessly took the hand. Narrowing his eyes, he decided to push his luck.

“That was... a lot of blood. On your clothes.”

“Most of it wasn't mine.”

That was definitely an opening. “Victor... what _is_ your actual job here?”

Ocean blue eyes met his, gauging his reaction. “I kill people, Yurio. But you already suspected that.”

Making a non committal noise, Yurio dealt another hand. “Are... are you good at it?”

“Very good” the Russian turned over his cards, settling his poker face carefully in place. “That doesn't scare you, does it?”

“Not really. I've spent my whole life around... violent people. You're nice to me. I'm not scared of you.”

Victor set his cards down and gave the blonde a speculative look. “Yuuri doesn't scare you either, does he?”

“No! Why should he?”

“Mmm. No reason.”

 _Huh?_ “W-what does that mean?”

“I'm just surprised that you haven't heard the stories about him yet. You've been here a while now.”

Yurio shrugged. “Most of the staff don't talk about each other much. Professional courtesy, I guess.” Curiosity got the better of him again. “How did you two meet?”

“Mmm. Ask him sometime. It's not really my story to tell.”

 

It took less than a week to dig the details out of Katsuki.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Come and say hi on Tumblr!](http://silvandar.tumblr.com/)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The interest and support for this fic is wonderful, thank you so much. Every comment is so appreciated. 
> 
> Yuuri's backstory chapter!

_Three years ago_

The smell of blood hit his nose as he toed open the door and he paused, slipping the safety off his gun. The house was silent, but Victor still entered like a ghost, making absolutely no noise as he shut and locked the door behind him.

Making his way through the building, he followed his nose to the top of the basement stairs. The door was slightly ajar, and he could hear a soft humming noise from down below. A freezer, maybe.

There was a light on down there.

The stairs were going to creak anyway the instant he stepped on them, so Victor paused for another breath and then darted into the basement, gun extended in front of him. As he did so, he shouted “freeze!”, reasoning that if there was someone there it would give him a few seconds, if not he just sounded stupid to the rats.

The sight in front of him made him clench his hands tighter around the gun, mouth dropping open slightly.

Raising his hands slowly in the air without turning around, Yuuri Katsuki looked up from the work surface, making a soft noise of displeasure at being disturbed. He could see the gleam of a weapon reflecting off the edge of his glasses, and the confidence in the man behind him was apparent just from the way he had entered the room.

“Turn around and drop the knife” the newcomer had fluent Italian, but his accent was heavy. Russian, maybe. Katsuki did as he was told, the knife in his hand clattering as it hit the floor. Gazing at the maybe-Russian, he appraised him calmly. Professional, obviously not expecting the scene he'd just walked in on. Gangster, probably. Damn.

Victor ran his eyes over the man, carefully avoiding looking at the work bench for now. Japanese, slender and looking more irritated than afraid, there was something unnervingly blank about his eyes. He was _gorgeous_ , the streaks of blood on his face and neck only adding to his beauty. Something primal inside Victor sat up and began panting.

He turned his gaze on the table, and made an irritated noise of his own.

“So... you've done my job for me. That's... annoying. I was looking forward to dealing with him.”

Katsuki blinked a few times, processing the information. When he spoke, his accent was heavy but Victor could understand his Italian.

“My apologies. I didn't realise he was of interest to anyone else. Feel free to take a souvenir if you need one.”

“Huh?” Victor lowered his gun slightly, his eyes widening. Was it possible that he wouldn't have to kill this stunning little monster? He licked his lips, unable to prevent the... alternative... possibilities clawing up into his brain. “W–why are you here? Why did you do this?”

"Can I put my arms down? I'd like to finish my work.”

Victor holstered his gun. He was fast enough to reach the knife first, and the thought of overpowering the other man was far too tempting to want to ruin it with a bullet wound.

“Go ahead. And answer my question.”

Lowering his arms and turning back to the table, Katsuki resumed his work with almost a dismissive gesture. “If you want to take an ear or something, help yourself.”

“What... why... huh. Fine.” Victor temporarily gave up, retrieving the knife from the floor slowly and crossing to the table. He watched the smaller man for a few moments, then finally understood what he was actually doing.

“Why are you pulling out bits of his spine?”

“Technically it's called de-boning.”

“This is the most fucking surreal experience I've had all year.”

Katsuki continued separating flesh from bone with a graceful precision, his face a calm, serene mirror. He hadn't even reacted to Victor picking up the knife.

“Aren't you worried I'll kill you?”

Huge brown eyes shifted to Victors, and his response was clipped, logical and devoid of anything resembling emotion. “You came here to kill this man. You don't seem too angry that I got here first, and you put your gun away. Why would you be a threat to me, as long as you get what you need to prove he's dead?”

Huh. “That's... very logical. But you've seen my face.”

A flicker in the depths of those eyes, and a twitch of his lips. A smile?

“Yes. It's a very pretty face. I'm glad I saw it.”

Aware that he was suddenly very much on the back foot, Victor busied himself with removing his required evidence from the remains of his target. Professional curiosity led him to ask “how did you kill him?”

“Garrotte from behind. Being short has its advantages when it comes to strangulation. Gravity does a lot of the work.”

Victors mouth went very suddenly dry, the matter of fact tone hitting him straight in the libido. Clearing his throat a few times, he repeated his question from earlier. “ _Why_ did you do this? Who do you work for?”

“Currently unemployed” the smaller man said, starting to place pieces of spine into a small plastic ziplock bag. “I picked him because he was available, and easy to access.” Sensing he'd missed Victor's point, he added “you could call this a hobby.”

He was, Victor noticed, using effective forensic countermeasures. Latex gloves, hair firmly slicked back to avoid any accidental moulting, a clearly disposable outfit. Plain, cheap boots with no treads.

_A hobby..._

“You... kill people for fun?”

Katsuki looked genuinely confused at the concept of fun, dismissing the question as unanswerable.

_OK Victor. Get a grip. He's obviously some kind of psychopathic serial killer. Don't get involved in that again, you know how it ended up last time._

“I'll... I'll leave you to it” and the reluctance to leave was in his voice before he could control it. Katsuki turned and faced him, stripping off his gloves. His eyes were slightly brighter as he dropped his trophies into his tool bag.

“I've finished now. I'll leave this for the police to clean up. They're so much more effective than black bin bags.”

“Don't you want to hide the body?”

“Why would I do that? There's no evidence left on it, after all. Besides, I expect he has a family somewhere that would want to bury him. Even the worst people do.”

Delivered utterly without emotion. Victor's throat went dry again.  _Goddammit man, why do you have to have such a freakish type._

_Fuck it._

“Hmmm. Well... in that case, can I... take you for a drink? To repay you for saving me a job?”

Katsuki gave him another searching look, then shook his head.

“No, thank you. I don't drink.”

_Damn... probably for the best. Too much complication._

The Japanese man paused as he reached the bottom of the stairs, then glanced back at the Russian.

“I'd prefer to have sex.”

_Ah..._

 

Victor caught the headline as Otabek glared at him across the table, visible on the tablet between his hands. _G_ _ang member sixteenth victim of wanted serial murderer._ Beneath that was a shot of the house from a week ago, and a body bag on a stretcher.

“You didn't mention that you had help with this.”

“Ah... it didn't seem necessary?”

The glare intensified, and Victor wriggled a little under it, becoming very aware of the scratched ruin of his back from the night before.

“What aren't you telling me, Nikiforov?”

_Ouch. Family name. Big trouble._

“Ah... I have a new boyfriend?”

Giacometti threw his phone at Victors head in exasperation.

 

“Why would your boss want to meet me?”

“He found out about your... hobby. Specifically, the part that crossed paths with my job last week.”

The smaller man curled up in a ball on the bed, a cloud of anxiety descending on him. “He's got no reason to be interested in me, I'm nothing.”

Victor laughed out loud. “Yuuri, beautiful, you don't have a choice. You've been summoned to the Altin residence. I'd have to kill you if you said no.” He reached out and drew the smaller man to him, smoothing his hair softly. “There's nothing to worry about. He just wants to know who I'm involved with and make sure there's no... complications.”

It had been a shock to Victor to discover that the confident, brilliantly logical man he'd met at the crime scene was actually only like that under very specific circumstances, namely when he was practising his 'hobby'. The work seemed to calm him, giving him a focus and purpose he lacked in the rest of his life. Unlike a lot of the psychopaths Victor had crossed paths with, he seemed to get no sexual satisfaction from the kill, and had no problems performing in the bedroom either. Instead, he had eventually explained, he needed the violence to calm some of the chaos in his mind, becoming increasingly anxious and distressed the longer he went without a target.

Unfortunately, for Victor that quirk of personality and mental state only made him more perfect. He responded to Victor's confidence instantly, drawing a different type of strength from him. When Victor realised that the Japanese man was also incredibly submissive in the bedroom, he decided he wasn't ever going to let Yuuri Katsuki go.

So it was that Katsuki found himself at the biggest house he'd ever seen, under careful watch of three heavily armed guards, and being guided by Victor's hand on his arm into a meeting with the head of one of the largest crime families in Italy. Otabek Altin.

 

The man himself was less impressive than Victor, physically at least. Not much taller than Katsuki himself, he wore a black suit and shirt for the meeting, no tie. Hair done in an undercut, and cuff links. Victor murmured that he'd just returned from a business dinner, and Katsuki made a soft noise of disinterest. He was too busy looking at the articles covering the giant desk.

They were all about him.

All sixteen of his targets, laid out before him. He had copies of most of these articles himself, keeping them together with the trophies he'd taken in his very secure, very secret lockup. Seeing them laid out in public like this was almost thrilling.

He ran his fingers over the headline of the last one, then became aware of the silence in the room. Three sets of eyes were watching him closely, Victors clearly showing signs of concern. Sighing, Katsuki turned his full attention to the two men opposite him.

Christophe Giacometti was a tall, tanned man who reeked of sensuality and debauchery. Hazel eyes, slight smile despite the blank expression he was currently trying to maintain. Gun on his hip under his expensive suit jacket – he'd obviously been at the same dinner as his boss.

Turning his eyes once more to the Kazakh, Katsuki evaluated him properly. Yes, he was compact and looked calm; unarmed, hands folded comfortably across his chest as he looked back. His posture was that of a man comfortable in his ability to dish out violence as needed, and his eyes were intelligent. Plus, Victor worshipped him, and Victor was a force to be reckoned with in his own right.

“You have an interesting portfolio, Katsuki san.”

Otabek spoke in Japanese, his accent crisp, each syllable dropping into place perfectly. Katsuki raised an eyebrow, but otherwise didn't move. Victor had been calming him down all day with particularly vigorous and painful sex, and he felt able to handle this new development. Victor's expression indicated that Japanese language skills were a revelation to him as well, so Katsuki forgave him for the omission in his briefing.

“Thank you, Altin dono. I apologise for any difficulties my activities may have caused you” he added, bowing slightly.

“Victor tells me you speak Italian” Otabek shifted into that language, indicating Giacometti. “My second has almost no Japanese.”

“Of course” Katsuki replied, also switching language. Victor made a worried noise in the back of his throat as Giacometti circled the table, standing behind Katsuki and looking over his shoulder at the articles.

The Japanese man shivered slightly as he was surrounded, but held his eye contact with Otabek.

“Sixteen kills, all left in plain sight. No forensic evidence whatsoever. Cause of death: strangulation with a garrotte. No witnesses, no suspects, no leads” Giacometti sounded slightly impressed.

“Victor also tells me you view this as a hobby, and have no ties to any of the other families, nor any terrorist outfits.”

“That is correct. I do not intend to continue my hobby anywhere near your territory, of course.”

“But you do intend to continue?”

“I have to” a slight pull of Katsuki's brow, and Giacometti moved so he could see his face. “I... it calms me. Allows me to focus.” The words were difficult to get out, but Victor had convinced him of the need for total honesty.

Otabek considered that, tapping his fingers on his forearm. As Victor was nearly at the point of screaming at the silence, he lowered his arms and sat down in his chair.

“Would you like a job, Mr Katsuki?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Come and say hi on Tumblr!](http://silvandar.tumblr.com/)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Otabek POV!! Yes!!

Yurio blinked in surprise as Christophe Giacometti entered the kitchen and tossed him a brown envelope. The room was quiet for once, only today's chef chopping vegetables in the corner. The blonde peeked inside the envelope, and his confusion only deepened.

“A passport?”

“Bingo. You need to shop for new clothes for the trip. Formal suit, decent evening outfit, comfortable clothes for cold weather. Decent shoes to match. You might want to consider a haircut too.”

That got an eyebrow raise. Otabek was very passionate about Yurio's hair, and expressed often that he loved it long. Yurio was growing it out.

“Just a thought. Whatever you want.”

“I don't understand.”

With a sigh, Giacometti snagged a piece of fruit from the bowl on the table and shook his head. “Neither do I, kätzchen. Neither do I. But he wants you to come with us, so you're coming.”

 

“Moscow” Victor replied, when Yurio questioned him about it. Noticing the sudden sick look on the blonde's face, the taller man patted his head gently. “That's your home turf, isn't it?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” He hadn't set foot there since he'd escaped six years ago. If he had his way, he never would again. “Why are we going to Moscow?”

“Family meeting. The Russian branch. It's a rare thing, probably take a couple of weeks.”

“Is Katsuki coming?”

Victor made a disconsolate noise in the back of his throat. “No. He's staying here to keep things running smoothly while we're away.”

There was a long, difficult pause before Yurio expressed his feelings in a wail, flopping down next to Victor on the couch. “Why do I have to go???”

A hand ruffled his hair gently. “Because he'll miss you too much if you stay. What do you think about that?”

He didn't know what to think, so Yurio just closed his eyes and leaned against the hit man, breathing slowly through his nose to try and calm himself down.

 

“You don't want to go, do you?”

Otabek sat on the bed, watching Yurio brushing his teeth. The blonde had been almost non verbal since Giacometti had delivered his passport that morning, responding in only shrugs and avoiding eye contact.

He paused in his brushing for a moment, then spat into the sink. “I'll do whatever you want.”

“Will you tell me _why_ you don't want to go?”

Yurio sighed, putting his toothbrush away and wrapping himself in his dressing gown. Crossing to the bed, he sat cross legged opposite the older man, eyes downcast. “It doesn't matter. I'll do whatever you want.”

A finger tilted his chin up, forcing him to make eye contact for the first time that day. Storm clouds were brewing in those green eyes, and Otabek realised that Yurio was only just holding back tears. _Damn._

“I want you to tell me why you don't want to go. Depending on what you say, I might reconsider.”

A spark of hope, quickly followed by a sharp downward tilt to the left. Painful memories being retrieved.

“I... I grew up there. In Moscow. I left when I was sixteen... escaped, really. M-my family are probably still there.”

Hidden meanings behind the words. A lot of pain, but a lot more fear about talking to Otabek about his past. Shame, as well.

“What were you escaping from, kitten?”

The tears did come then, silent and probably unconscious, a reaction to the softness in his words.

Yurio spoke haltingly, his breath hitching in little sobs as he laid out his history. The empty cupboards and stale food for as far back as he could remember, and the nights when his mother brought clients back, locking the tiny child in the cupboard so she wouldn't be disturbed in the studio flat that was home. Learning that crying meant beatings, and silence becoming the default. How, when he was seven, she started renting him to her pimps to bring in extra money for her drugs.

The grandfather who protected him when he could, but died of a stroke when he was fifteen. How he managed to escape a few months later, after he'd received a small sum of money from his grandfather's inheritance that his mother didn't know about.

Moscow was off the table by the time he'd finished crying, curled up in Otabek's arms and wrapped in a blanket as he drifted off into a troubled sleep.

It was five months since they had first met.

 

_Five months ago..._

As the dancer disappeared behind the curtain to get his things, Otabek shook himself, calming down enough to leave the room. Making his way through the club to his limo, shadowed by his ever present bodyguards, he forced himself to focus on his itinerary for the next day, anything to avoid losing his attention in memories of the last five minutes.

The tiny Russian was utterly breathtaking.

Victor was lounging in the car where he'd been left, playing some sort of game on his phone. As Otabek slipped into the car, he received a call and turned away, starting to fix both of them a drink. Otabek held three fingers up, and Victor raised an eyebrow.

He finished his call as Yurio entered the limo and his expression became amused. Otabek pointedly ignored him as he handed the blonde a drink. The dancer had given Victor a quick, polite smile, then turned the full effect of those huge eyes on his new client.

With a silent mental prayer, Otabek covered his desires by twisting his fingers into Yurio's hair.

 

By the time he'd concluded his business with Giacometti and made his way to his room, he was burning up on the inside, the need to get his hands on his new toy almost overwhelming.

He discovered the blonde in the shower, clean and even more beautiful now he was free of his slutty outfit and makeup. Without a thought, Otabek stripped and stepped into the shower behind him.

It only took one admonishment to make the dancer behave naturally, and the sex was mind-blowingly good.

Otabek couldn't remember how long it had been since he'd last had sex. He was sure he'd _never_ had sex as good as that.

 

Browsing through a stack of paperwork the next morning, he didn't even look up as Giacometti folded himself into his usual chair.

“Good evening, boss?”

He couldn't help it, he could feel the traitor smile creeping over his lips.

 

 _Later_...

“He took the phone.”

Otabek shut the filing cabinet with a smile, quickly suppressed. “OK. Now can we stop discussing my sex life?”

“No” Giacometti grinned, shaking his head. “You actually having a sex life is the best news I've had in months. I want to hear all the details.”

“Stay overnight next time that tiny tiger is here” Victor suggested, “you'll hear everything.”

Otabek went an interesting shade of red, and gave Victor a glare. “Makes a change from it being you two” he countered, weakly.

“I'd rather hear you moaning than the deviant shit those two get up to” Giacometti agreed, pulled a disgusted face, and Victor laughed out loud.

It was true. Hysterical, agonised crying should not be mixed with mutual moaning, in Otabek's personal opinion.

 

_In a short number of weeks, Yuri Plisetsky had become an integral part of Otabek's life._

The Kazakh made the mistake of visiting the club Yurio worked at, with Victor in tow. They had stayed exactly long enough for Otabek to watch the blonde take the stage, and then he'd walked out and they'd driven directly to an underground bare knuckle boxing ring. Otabek had beaten his first opponent to a bloody pulp before Victor even had a chance to lay a decent bet.

He asked Yurio to quit dancing the next day, and the blonde agreed with a shy smile.

 

By the end of the second month, Otabek had changed the terms of their arrangement. Yurio was given a suite and access to funds, and he spent every night in the Kazakh's bed.

 

_Five months since they first met._

“So... Yurio.”

The tone in Giacometti's voice had Otabek's eyebrow raised before the brunette even looked up from his laptop.

“It's not my business...”  
“But?”  
“But... you're falling for him. Don't deny it.”

He couldn't, really. “Your point?”

The expression on his second in command's face was gentle. “He's been here five months now. Don't you think you should make him... more permanent? Seems weird to keep paying him. He adores you” he added, and Otabek smiled slightly. “Maybe. We'll see how Moscow goes.”

“You're taking him to Moscow?”

“I thought he'd enjoy a trip to Russia. He's from there originally.”

 

“Yurio's not coming to Moscow. Cancel his ticket.”

Giacometti looked concerned. “Is everything OK?”

Sitting down with a sigh, Otabek nodded, his face clouded. “Turns out Russia isn't a happy memory for him.”

“Ah. Fair enough. Will... will he be OK staying here with Katsuki?”  
“I think so. They seem to get on well.”  
“I'll never understand that.”

 

_On his return from Moscow, a month later, Otabek finally made up his mind._

“I... have something I want to ask you.”

Yurio looked up from his phone, surprised to find Otabek's attention fixed on their lunch plates instead of on him. Locking his screen, he carefully set the phone down on the table and ran a fingertip along Otabek's jaw.

“What is it, my love?”

Breathing through his nose, Otabek felt his face heat slightly. Yurio had started calling him 'my love' a week ago, when Otabek returned from Moscow. The trip had been long and lonely, and seeing Yurio again had caused the older man to be a bit honest about his growing feelings for the blonde.

Every time the smaller man used those words, it made Otabek's heart leap in his chest and his mouth twitch into a smile. It was embarrassing how much he liked hearing it.

“I don't want to be your client any more.”

Silence, and he looked up. The blonde's face was carefully blank, but his eyes were looking a bit too bright. He suddenly realised it probably sounded like he was ending things, and hurriedly kissed the smaller man. As he pulled back, he clarified. “I'm in love with you, Yuri. I want you in my life... properly.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Giacometti calls Yurio 'kätzchen' which means kitten in German.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot starts to appear! There is actually a plot to this fic, don't worry!
> 
> Also a bit more Yuuri backstory, because I love him.

The boutique had animal prints in the window so of course he had to go in, and the staff immediately provided Yurio with coffee and snacks while he browsed through their catalogue of styles and fabrics. Learning to shop for couture had been an eye opener for the blonde, but after a few humiliating mistakes, he'd got the hang of it. Act arrogant and like you expected the world to come to you on a plate, but provide a generous tip and smile a lot, and most of the designers would fall over themselves to help you spend money.

He glanced up as the bell rang, and blinked as his bodyguard's hand went to his waist almost casually, resting on the gun beneath his jacket. His eyes were narrow, and the man who had just entered behind an extravagantly dressed woman was returning the expression.

Yurio watched her as she crossed the room, her eyes flickering around the shop. As they landed on Lorenzo and Yurio, they widened in recognition of the bodyguard and she approached, taking a seat beside the blonde. Close up, she seemed to have violet eyes and naturally dark hair. Italian, definitely. 

“Sara Crispino” she extended a manicured hand “and this is Emil. You must be one of Otabek's friends. How lovely to meet you.”

Her tone seemed genuinely warm, but the looks the two men were exchanging were hostile. Yurio shook her hand carefully, his smile welcoming but wary.

“Yuri Plisetsky. I'm sorry, I'm not familiar...”

“Oh of course not, how silly of me. I recognised Lorenzo, of course.” Noticing no change in Yurio's expression, her smile became a little more sympathetic. “Otabek has been keeping you a secret I see. My brother Michele is one of his work colleagues.”

_Ah._

  


_“_ So what was that all about?”

Lorenzo sipped his latte, keeping his expression carefully blank. “I don't speak Italian” he lied, in Italian. Yurio laughed.

“Ask Otabek?”

“Ask Otabek” the bodyguard agreed, amicably.

  


“Sara Crispino? How did you run into _her_?”

Yurio stretched out on the sun lounger, raising his sunglasses to look at his boyfriend. The tone of the brunette's reply had been slightly on the irritated side, and he knew to step very carefully.

“Shopping. She introduced herself to me.”

“Mmm. She's Michele Crispino's twin sister.”

“That much she told me. He's a... business rival?”

Otabek nodded, enjoying the sight of the blonde despite the turn of the conversation. Yurio had obviously planned this ambush of questioning – he was wearing a very see through leopard print shirt and a black thong, his hair left loose around his face and shoulders. Distracting enough that he could get away with murder, Otabek thought.

It was unusual for Yurio to ask him questions about _anything,_ but then it was also unusual for him to come into contact with Otabek's world outside of the house. Sighing, the Kazakh accepted this change of dynamic and leaned back on his chair, linking their fingers together.

“The Crispino's are a rival Family” the capital letter was unmissable “that we've had a truce with for about two years.” He made a mental note to have this 'accidental' meeting looked into. “Sara is about as harmless as a cornered cobra. What did she say to you?”

“Mostly discussing clothes” Yurio said, stroking the other man's hand softly. “She made a few comments about my 'friendship' with you that I avoided.”

“Good. I'll have to assign you a second bodyguard for a while, I hope that's OK?”

Yurio nodded silently, watching Otabek's thoughts drift over his face.

“Lorenzo said something about her and her brother that didn't make sense.”

“Oh?”

“Something about how he was surprised Emil was still her bodyguard, and that Michele was letting them out of his sight?”

Otabek pulled a face. “They're involved. Her and Emil. They think it's a secret of course, and Michele doesn't dare have him killed in case it would advertise the situation too much. It drives him nuts.”

“Situation?”

“Between Michele and his sister.”

“Wha... oh. OH. Oh, that's disgusting.”

Otabek laughed loudly enough to startle the cat, and tightened his grip on Yurio's waist lovingly.

 

_Two years ago_

Yuuri Katsuki opened his eyes, and his first sensation was of pain. There was fire in his gut, and he looked down at himself curiously. He was shirtless, and a thick bandage was wrapped around his stomach. The hospital room was white, and he let the calming blankness settle over him as he processed his injuries. Gunshot, at least one bullet, probably central gut. Slow bleeder, requiring surgery. 

An explosion of shouting from outside the room, and then a quiet rumble before the door opened. Victor strode into the room, followed by Otabek, Giacometti and three bodyguards. Victor was an alarming shade of grey, and was shouting directly at his employer, his face twisted in rage as long strings of aggressive Russian poured from his lips.

Otabek occasionally rumbled something back, and Giacometti was eyeing the silver haired hit man warily. Everyone apart from Victor and Otabek were armed, and looking like they were inches away from pulling their guns on the furious Russian.

When Katsuki spoke, his voice sounded cracked and his throat hurt. He started in Japanese, to get Victor's attention. “What happened, Altin dono?”

Victor swung round as he spoke, and immediately sat on the bed next to him, gripping one of his hands. The other one was hooked up to a saline drip, Katsuki realised.

“You got _shot”_ Victor snarled, and Otabek made another soothing rumble.

“I realise that” Katsuki replied switching to Italian, his expression shifting slightly with concern. “I mean, what happened with the job? Did I fuck things up at the Crispino meet?”

“It was fine” Otabek replied, “I finished the... negotiation... while Victor brought you here.”

Katsuki made an irritated noise, unhappy that Otabek had been forced to get his hands dirty due to his failure. “I apologise, Altin dono. That should never have happened.”

“Damn right it shouldn't have happened” Victor's voice was still too high, too aggressive. Giacometti looked a lot like he wanted to punch him. Katsuki made a soothing noise at him, stroking his hand again.

“Relax, my love. I'm fine.”

“ _You got shot_ ”

“Yes. It's part of my job to risk getting shot. Same as yours.”

“Not any more” Otabek rumbled, and everyone in the room stared at him. Victor opened and shut his mouth a few times, but nothing came out.

 

“You're seriously benching him?”

“I can't have Victor getting this worked up” Otabek said calmly, stirring his coffee. It tasted foul, probably because Katsuki hadn't made it. The man was a genius in several areas, not just when murdering people cleanly and efficiently. “He's going to make me shoot him if he does it again. I don't want to shoot my best operative.”

An irritated noise from Giacometti. “He needs to learn some fucking respect.”

“He _does_ respect me. Notice how I'm still breathing after Katsuki got shot because of me?”

“It wasn't _because_ of you. He was on a job, protecting you was part of it. He took a bullet. End of.”

“Mmmm. Victor doesn't see it like that.”

“Victor is a psychopath, obsessively in love with a sociopath. He doesn't get an opinion.”

Otabek rumbled, and Giacometti subsided. “Fine. Whatever you want. What are you going to do with him instead?”

Truthfully, Otabek hadn't thought that far ahead.

  


“ _Housekeeper?_ ”

“You don't like the title? We can call it something else.”

Katsuki stared at his boss as if the man had grown a second head. “I have literally no idea what that involves, but I know I don't do cleaning.”

Otabek sighed and sat down, gesturing for Katsuki to do the same. The smaller man did as he was bid, pulling his knees up to his chest unconsciously.

 _Anxious,_ Otabek thought. _Victor hasn't been home in two days, and he's not had a target of his own for a month._

“I know it's not ideal” the brunette said, watching Katsuki's face carefully “but I need you out of the firing line, for Victor's sake. I know you saw the state of him after you got shot.”

Passing a hand unconsciously over the healing wound on his stomach, Katsuki nodded. He had been astonished at Victor's behaviour, and horrified by the way he spoke to Altin.

“That wasn't even scratching the surface. He was furious for days while you were in the hospital, I nearly had to have him shot.”

_Ah. Came closer than I realised then._

“I can't have that again.”

 _No. Unprofessional behaviour, disrespectful_. Understanding, Katsuki nodded, unsure if he should apologise for his boyfriend.

“Obviously I won't dismiss you, you're too valuable an asset” Otabek continued, “so, you need a new main job. If I need you to do field work it will be on a very rare, case by case basis.”

 _No more field work. No more targets._ Katsuki rested his chin on his knees, worried.

“Victor assures me he can help you with your... therapy. When you're not in the field.”

Flushing slightly, Katsuki thought about that. Victor had been referring to their sex life as 'therapy' for a while, and it was true that since they'd started dating, the need to kill had been reduced to more of a perk of his job than the powerful, driving urge he was used to. Perhaps it would be OK. Perhaps.

“If you do find you need to let off steam, you come to me and I'll give you something to do. No secret projects.”

_Well, that seems reasonable._

“What exactly does a housekeeper do, Altin dono?”

  


Surveying the assembled staff, Katsuki tried a smile and realised it had shuffled into a frown. He focused on the pain in his back and legs, the sensation of bloody bandages under his shirt calming him. Victor had finally come home, and equilibrium had been restored to Katsuki's mind. He could handle this.

“My name is Yuuri Katsuki. You may call me Katsuki, or sir. As of today, I will be in charge of the household, and by extension, all of you.”

Carefully blank faces. He was known by reputation amongst most of Otabek's staff, after all. Not a month ago he'd been sitting in this very room, listening to briefings and cleaning his own weapons.

“I hope you will all continue to work hard. I am a difficult person to get along with, so I hope you will also have patience with me while I learn the job.” _Otherwise, he'd probably end up flipping his lid and creating some vacancies, and then Otabek would have him killed. Which would probably lead to Victor being killed too. All round bad news, best avoided._

“Mr Altin has given me control over the estate expenses, staff rotas, maintenance, events planning and catering, and anything else which might be the business of the household. Mr Giacometti will continue to handle security.” That seemed to provide some relief, knowing that some things would stay the same. A few flickers from the staff, and he raised an eyebrow. “You have questions?”

They did, but not as many as he expected, and nothing he couldn't handle.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You wanted it, you've got it. Victuuri and debauchery!
> 
> Short chapter, just giving a spot of background on Victor and Yuuri's sex life, for Reasons. 
> 
> Heavy heavy BDSM references. Approach with care.

_Three years ago_

The trip to Katsuki's apartment had been almost silent. Collecting his car from a few blocks away from the crime scene, Victor had stolen occasional looks at the Japanese man, but received nothing in response. Katsuki seemed content to sit in the passenger seat, hands folded in his lap as they drove. The only time he spoke was to give Victor his address.

Crinkling his nose slightly at the area he was parking in, Victor followed the smaller man into a dilapidated building with broken lifts and a stink of human waste in the stairwells. Wondering what he was going to see in the apartment of a serial killer, the Russian braced himself for the worst.

He was not prepared for the sight of a spotless apartment, complete with a small bonsai tree on the table in the lounge, and clean white walls throughout. The place looked like it had been carved from ice, it was so clean. Victor went as far as going back into the fetid hallway to make sure he hadn't lost his mind.

“I don't like mess” Katsuki said, noticing his confusion.

“Clearly.”

Staring at his visitor, Katsuki wondered how to proceed. His request for sex had been met with enthusiasm, but now they were here he was out of his depth. Meeting someone he was physically attracted to was rare enough for him, let alone someone who had met him while covered in blood, and given him the _thirstiest_ look he'd ever seen.

He busied himself with tidying a non existent bit of dust as Victor stared at him. Then, irritated at his own hesitation, he stood in front of the Russian and took his glasses off. “Are we going to have sex or not?” he demanded, and the other man laughed softly, his blue eyes crinkling with fondness.

“Since you asked so nicely...”

  
  


It took less than two minutes for Victor to understand what kind of sexual partner Yuuri Katsuki was.

The first clue was the way he melted into Victor's kiss, letting the Russian dictate the pace and speed. He moulded his body against him, shivering each time Victor took more control, until he was flat on his back on the floor with Victor removing his clothes with his pocket knife.

The second clue was when he asked if Yuuri wanted him to cut more than just clothes. His loud gasp and the way his hips arched told the Russian all he needed to know.

It required little more than a few well placed, shallow cuts to the safer areas of his torso and some deep bites to his inner thighs, to bring him over the edge into Victor's hand. The sounds he made when he came were completely indecent, leaving his tormentor aroused and lusting.

Victor knew before he even started fucking him that Katsuki would enjoy minimal lube and stretching, but he wasn't anticipating how much _he_ would get from the damage his new lover's nails inflicted on his back and buttocks. Pain was effective as an aphrodisiac for both of them.

  
  


They eventually made it to the other room, and Yuuri (Victor had started moaning his last name and been corrected desperately) invited him to the bed by slipping his wrists into a set of sleek looking police issue handcuffs. By the time they were exhausted, his wrists were covered in tiny cuts and purple bruising. Victor told him it looked delightful, and matched the rest of his body, and he blushed and giggled like a schoolboy.

Neither of them could walk very well the next day, and Yuuri couldn't sit down at all. They didn't leave the apartment for a week, getting food delivered when they remembered to eat.

Yuuri possessed a number of very interesting toys, most of which they tried out during the first week. Savage looking cuffs and heavy chains attached to the bed in various ways, allowing Victor to be very creative with restraining him. Whips, floggers, gags and a whole drawer of knives nestled in the bottom of his wardrobe, and he owned a staggering array of clamps and piercing needles. He admitted to Victor that he mostly used his toy collection on himself when masturbating, due to the lack of a keen partner to play with.

The Russian had whispered in his ear that he would use every single one of them on him eventually, and then buy him a whole new set. The response from the smaller man was visceral.

  
  


When Victor arrived back at the Altin estate he was bruised and bloody from neck to knees and he knew he'd left his new boyfriend in an even worse state physically. Reassuringly, Katsuki had told Victor that as a result, he felt more mentally stable than he had in years.

 

Victor knew he was in trouble the minute he saw the expression on Otabek's face and the news headline in his hands.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's all about the writing, so I'll probably upload a bunch of chapters.
> 
> Oh yah, Victuuri are totally married by this point in the timeline :p

Christophe Giacometti had a very distinctive voice; deep and sultry, dripping with honey. It carried through the house, broadcasting his mood wherever he was. That morning, the mood was Extremely Angry.

Yurio paused outside the office, eyeing the closed door curiously. Giacometti had been yelling in German for at least ten minutes, punctuated by the occasional soft rumble from Otabek and a low huffing that he recognised as Victor's 'unhappy' noise.

He flinched as Katsuki ghosted up to him and gently led him away from the door, soft fingers grasping his hand firmly. When they reached the kitchen, the Japanese housekeeper gave him a shrug of apology and started making breakfast for them both.

“I'm sorry... I shouldn't have been listening...”

“Mmm.”

“What's going on?”

“Curiosity gutted the cat.”

“Good point.” Yurio sighed, curling up on his usual stool and wrapping his robe around himself like a blanket. Katsuki paused, his head tilted as the front door slammed indicated Giacometti had just left in a fury.

 

“You know I respect you, and I'd never pry into your business. Right?”

“I know that” Otabek agreed, watching green eyes skim his face. “You want to know what this morning was all about?”

“I've never heard Chris that angry. Or Victor. Even Katsuki looked worried.”

“It still amazes me how you learned to read that man so quickly. It took me years to figure him out.”

“If you don't want to tell me I understand.”

Otabek considered it, tucking Yurio's head down onto his shoulder and rubbing his nose along his scalp, inhaling the fresh scent of his hair. In the six months since they'd met, the blonde had been growing it out. It was over his shoulders now, almost two inches longer than the neat bob he had worn as an erotic dancer.

He had changed in other ways too. Regular food and access to fitness equipment had given his lean frame a toned quality. His tan had deepened to a soft cream, and his skin glowed with health. Sometimes, it hurt Otabek's heart to look at him, he was so beautiful.

Able to hold his own with the rough humour of Otabek's men, dishing out savage retorts and the occasional tantrum when needed, he had settled in easily when he began to work for Otabek. To the Kazakh's surprise, he had also revealed a capacity for empathy and charisma, as evidenced by his continued affection for the Katsuki-Nikiforovs. He had a quick mind, and could spot instantly when Otabek needed to simply sit in silence, letting him hold him close and stroke his lengthening blonde hair for hours. Since they had become more conventional lovers, he had begun taking an interest in the affairs of the house, if only to ensure he wouldn't accidentally make mistakes or embarrass the brunette. His desire to be part of Otabek's life became more apparent every day, and to his astonishment, the Kazakh found himself wanting to let him in.

It was probably time for him to start understanding a bit more about the Family Business.

  
  


Offering the blonde his hand, Otabek helped him out of the car and led him into the warehouse. Fascinated by the bustling workers and the clank and slam of forklifts and loading beds, Yurio let himself be piloted around huge crates and shipping containers. At Otabek's request he was dressed to blend in, with strong, flat boots, jeans and a sweater. Otabek was wearing a casual suit, no tie as usual. They attracted only brief flashes of curiosity as they made their way to the room high on the wall at the back of the building.

Giacometti was on the phone in what was clearly his main office when they entered, and his eyebrows rose as he saw the blonde. Hanging up, he folded his arms across his chest and waited for an explanation. Sitting on the puffy leather couch opposite the desk, Otabek pulled Yurio under his arm and raised an eyebrow of his own.

“What's he doing here?”

A soft noise of irritation, but his second in command didn't relent, so Otabek shrugged slightly. “He's learning a bit more about his world. Play nicely.”

Groaning, Giacometti sat down on the edge of the desk. “I knew it was a mistake, you getting laid regularly. You've gone soft.”

Christophe Giacometti was probably the only person in the world who could get away with saying that to Otabek Altin.

“Whatever. How are the delivery numbers?”

“Fuck the numbers. That's not why I called you down here.”

“Oh?”

“This arrived today” Giacometti passed Otabek a padded brown envelope, addressed to Otabek with a printed label. The Kazakh glanced inside, then tossed it onto the desk with a closed expression.

“Who was it?”

“Flischer. He'd been missing for three days.”

Yurio stirred slightly. The envelope had been bulky, whatever was in it about the size of a finger.

“Mmm. Crispino?”

Giacometti snarled, throwing himself down into the office chair forcefully. Glaring across the table at Otabek, he nodded.

The blonde wrapped himself in his coat as Otabek rose, the loss of body heat allowing the chill of the warehouse to reassert itself. The brunette padded to the filing cabinets, running his fingers through a line of dust as he thought. Something the cousins had in common, Yurio realised; neither of them could sit still when faced with a problem.

“What's he playing at. He _wants_ to start a war?”

“It's been two years. Maybe he thinks the truce has had its day?”

“Mmm. He wasn't happy with it being struck in the first place. His father wanted that.”

“You still think Michele was behind the attempt on you at the meet? When Katsuki got shot?”

“Either that or Sara. They're two heads of the same snake.”

“Victor was right. You should have let him deal with them at the time.”

Otabek clicked his tongue. “Katsuki nearly died for that peace treaty. I wasn't going to bin it straight away by letting Victor work off his temper.”

The taller man rolled his eyes, but nodded. “You're right. So what's changed?”

“I don't know.”

“Alessandro Crispino is thinking about retirement.”

Two sets of eyes turned to the blonde, and he winced a little. He hadn't really intended to open his mouth at all, but realising he had information they didn't prompted him.

“ _How do you know that_ ” Giacometti demanded, and Otabek rumbled slightly, sounding surprised. Yurio chewed the inside of his lip, then shrugged.

“You know I met Sara Crispino, and she invited me to take coffee with her? You said I should go along, you didn't want to risk offending her. She took me to one of her coffee houses. It's pretty easy to listen to the room when the person you're talking to thinks you're star struck with her.”

There was a long, drawn out silence. “I did mention it” Yurio added, worried that Otabek thought he'd been holding out on him.

_So he had... but Otabek hadn't been listening, because he'd been talking about his day which Otabek had written off as less important than the contract he was mulling over in his mind. Damn._

Sitting beside the blonde, Otabek drew him back into his arms and kissed his forehead. “What else did you tell me, that I missed because I was being an ignorant asshole?” he asked, softly. Giacometti sat back on the edge of the desk, his attention fully and genuinely on Yurio for probably the first time since they'd met.

Thinking back over the last few coffee dates, Yurio organised his thoughts. “Alessandro Crispino is thinking of retirement, and there's a bit of trouble over his successor. The assumption is that it will be the twins, but there's a cousin involved as well.”

“Marcell Crispino” Giacometti murmured.

“There's some sort of rift between the Crispinos and their relatives in Sicily, which is causing cash flow problems. This cousin is supposed to be dealing with that, and the twins are focusing on Northern Europe, probably at their father's request.”

“How the _fuck_ do you know that" Giacometti leaned forward, his eyes wide.

Yurio shrugged again. “Sara told me she's been shopping in Berlin and Paris. They spent a few weeks in each place, and she was so bored after a week of solid shopping she ended up having sex with three different waiters.” He took in the blank expressions and translated. “Michele was so busy with work he was neglecting her, and he was also leaving her out of the business meetings which means he was was doing 'man's work' as she refers to it. That's what she calls it when their father leaves her out because things are getting bloody.”

“How long have you been her best friend, and what the fuck” Giacometti breathed, and Otabek chuckled despite himself.

“I think you have an untapped potential for espionage, kitten” the Kazakh said, kissing Yurio's forehead again. “I didn't intend for you to do anything risky”

“I know” Yurio interrupted, touching his jaw with a fingertip, “and I didn't take any risks. Half of the stuff she told me was bullshit, I'm sure. She was trying to feed me false information, that's why I didn't make a big deal of it. The stuff I just told you though, I picked up from listening to people around her as well. Plus a bit of internet digging.”

“Internet?”

“Checking dates, hotel events, stuff like that. They definitely were in Paris and Berlin, and she was tagged doing a hell of a lot of shopping and spa days.”

“Tagged...” Giacometti looked baffled.

“Instagram. Sara Crispino is an international model, you know that. Every time she so much as walks down a street, she's photographed and tagged online.”

“Mmm” Otabek smiled, eyeing his second in command. “Are you glad I brought him now?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing today is inspired by listening to a lot of visual kei on spotify <3


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is the truth of the history between the Altin and Crispino clans? 
> 
> CW: Descriptions of violence and death.

_Two years ago_

Victor slowed his breathing, using the scope of his sniper rifle as binoculars to watch the meeting taking place on the floor of the warehouse. His position beside the skylight gave him a clear view of the room, but his gun was trained on the three men he was protecting.

Looking through the scope, he picked up the slicked back hair and sharp jaw of Katsuki, standing to the left and behind their boss, who was sat at the single table in the centre of the room. Opposite Otabek sat a much older man, skin weathered and violet eyes dim with age, but still sharp and intelligent. Alessandro Crispino was speaking in low tones, his voice barely reaching the hit man in the rafters.

Otabek Altin was focused on him, eyes hooded. Relying on the men around him to keep things safe and civil, but ready to act as needed. To his right, Christophe Giacometti had his hands folded in front of him as he stood with his eyes locked on the two men standing behind the older gangster.

The man with dark brown hair, violet eyes and a deep tan stood to the right hand side of the old man; Michele Crispino, his son. His eyes were locked on Giacometti, and his expression was only just on the right side of respectful. Victor let his cross hairs settle between those vibrant eyes for a moment, then moved on reluctantly.

To the left, the czech who always looked on the verge of a laugh or a smile, Emil Nekola. He wasn't laughing or smiling today though. Probably because he was standing next to Michele.

Otabek was nodding to something old man Crispino had said. Two glasses of wine sat before them, untouched after the traditional sip of their parley.

Something moved in the reflection in the glass, and Victor felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck.

Katsuki was the first to react, of course, almost at the same time as Victor registered something was wrong. His shoulders tensed, and then he was moving, blocking line of sight to Otabek and his gun flying into his hand.

Everything seemed to happen in that slow motion that Victor always experienced in combat.

Noiselessly, Victor dropped from the roof, sniper rifle over his back and pistol in his free hand, angling his fall to slide down the wall and cut his momentum. As he landed, Katsuki took his first shot, hitting the man who had darted into the room. The man had died before the guards he'd slipped past even realised he was there.

Michele grabbed his father's shoulders, yanking the old man back into Emil's arms. All the guards were now reacting, but they were slow, too slow.

A second man got half way across the floor before Victor cut him down. Giacometti had reacted almost as fast as Katsuki, his weapon in his hand and his body covering Otabek so Katsuki was free to move.

The third man fell, shot by one of Crispino's guards. Cries of alarm and outrage were echoing throughout the room. Aware that several of the guards had gone down in a hail of gunfire from somewhere off to the left, Victor changed his trajectory and darted in that direction. He could see Katsuki already moving that way, and the slowness came to a dead stop as he watched his lover suddenly fly backwards, folding at the middle as he was hit.

Something went very, very cold inside of Victor, as his perception narrowed to a slit. Three quick shots put down the enemies on the left, and then he was at Katsuki's side. His shirt was already staining a hard, bright red. Arterial blood.

There was an angry buzz as a bullet went past Victor's ear. Without even looking around, he fired back and a fourth man died.

Katsuki's face had that strange, peaceful expression of a man floating in pain, but he was conscious. Of course, he wouldn't miss out on the agony of getting shot. His eyes were unfocused, but they found Victor's face somehow, and he smiled. His teeth were covered in blood.

Giacometti and Otabek were running past him now, joined by the surviving two guards. Another shot rang out, the unmistakable sound of Otabek's custom revolver, and the last enemy dropped. Victor looked up to see his boss lower his gun and glance down at Katsuki.

“Get him out of here” he snapped, and Victor didn't hesitate. He lifted Katsuki, deliberately socketed his shoulder against the entry wound, using the smaller man's weight to apply pressure, and then he ran.

The drive to the nearest hospital felt like a bad acid trip. Victor sat in the back seat of the car, watching the love of his life dying under his hands. At some point, Katsuki had lost consciousness from blood loss. Slightly hysterically, Victor decided he was going to mock him for that when he woke up.

He only vaguely remembered carrying Katsuki into the ER, shouting in Italian for help and then watching helplessly as four nurses took him away on a trolley, rattling numbers and acronyms at each other. Once they'd disappeared into emergency surgery, he became aware of a man in a nurses uniform talking to him, eyeing the gun on his hip warily and trying to lead him into a cubicle of his own.

It was only then that he realised he'd taken a bullet to the left arm, a through and through that he hadn't even felt.

  
  


Giacometti arrived at the hospital a few hours later, discovering Victor sat in the waiting room of main surgery with his head in his hands. He'd been stripped out of his shirt and was wearing his jacket over his right shoulder, bandages wrapped around his left arm. Chest bare, his bloody shirt was being used to conceal the weapon in his lap.

“Any word on Katsuki?”

No reply. Victor didn't even move. Sighing, Giacometti sat down beside him and waited, not speaking again until a doctor came out looking for them.

 

“It wasn't Crispino. I'm sure of it.”

Victor swore eloquently, mashing up about three languages to express his feelings. “Fuck what you're sure of. Who else could it have been.”

In the corner, Giacometti made a growling noise at the Russian's tone. Victor didn't even glance at him.

Tapping his fingers together, Otabek made what felt like the hundredth soothing noise that day. “My instincts say the Triads, probably hoping to ruin the truce.”

“Why the fuck would you say that. None of them were Chinese.”

“None of them were local, either. Crispino would have used his own boys, or I would have heard about new hires. We weren't watching the Triads closely enough to pick up on it.”

“Fucking bullshit. Let me go after Crispino and his brats. I'll...”

“No. Katsuki took a bullet for this truce. Why would you want to destroy any chance we have left?”

Victor snarled, rounding on his boss. Giacometti had his gun in his hand before he'd even fully stood up.

“He took three fucking bullets, you motherfu...”

“Victor!” Giacometti's voice was furious.

Closing his eyes, the Russian raised his hands apologetically, backing away from Otabek. “Sorry... I'm sorry. I'm... I'm strung out. My head's fucked. I'm sorry.”

Otabek just stared at the silver haired hit man, eyes locked across the table. “Go to the hospital, Victor” he said, his voice edged with steel. “Look after him until you can bring him home, then report back to me.”

It took another week and two more surgeries before Katsuki was able to return to the estate. Victor didn't leave the hospital once.

  
  


“He's willing to sign.”

Otabek scrubbed a hand through his hair, closing his eyes for a moment. He felt dirty, the kind of dirt that came from exhaustion and a prolonged period of stress. He heard Victor make some sort of surprised noise close beside him, but his cousin's voice seemed to be coming from a long way away.

Three weeks since the disaster at the parley, and Crispino had finally agreed to talk to him. They'd exchanged mutual assurances that neither of them had orchestrated the attack, and had finally finished coming to terms over the truce.

“He agrees with you that it might be the Triads, although he didn't outright say it.”

The Kazakh nodded, thinking longingly of the shower upstairs. “When?”

“Tuesday. Public meet, early evening. At Ventura.”

Another nod. The restaurant was owned by a member of the Vallis, a smaller group who focused on running money laundering schemes. They took jobs from most of the major players, and were carefully neutral to all of them as a result.

“You're going to sign at five per cent?”

“Yes.”

Giacometti made a disgusted noise. “It's not worth pushing it” Otabek said, rising from his chair. “Don't argue with me. I'm not in the mood for any more shit today.”

“Yes boss.” The taller man knew when to stop.

“I need a shower. And about a month of sleep.”

Victor shifted in his seat, and Otabek glanced at him. “Oh, right. Katsuki. I'll talk to him tomorrow, if he's well enough.”

An amused expression crossed the Russian's face. “He's refusing to stay in bed any longer. Give it another few days though, if that's OK?” His tone was respectful; he knew how close he'd come to getting a bullet for his behaviour while his lover was in hospital.

“Fine. Until then, I want you to start moving our people onto the docks at Genoa."

 


	10. Chapter 10

The wine was good. At five hundred Euros a bottle, it had to be. Smiling at his companion's comment, Yurio sipped and let the fruity flavours of the red tease his taste buds. Stretching out his legs under the table, he raised an amused eyebrow at the next comment, considering whether it would a terrible breach in etiquette to take a few bottles home. The food at the restaurant was five star, but the wine held his interest far more.

He vaguely wondered if this was how rich people ended up with gout.

“...and I told him I'd blow him for a hundred!”

Shrill, fake, feminine laughter from the other women at the table, and Yurio curled his lip. “You should be ashamed” he said, and rejoiced inside at the sharp, terrified inhale of breath from the other women. Fucking sycophants.

Sara Crispino stared at him, her mouth quirked in a slight smile.

“Lips like that, you should have charged at least a thousand” Yurio followed up, and Sara let loose a gale of laughter that was quickly echoed by the others. He caught a few hate-filled looks thrown his way by the group.

“Is that what you charged Otabek?” quipped one of the women viciously, and silence descended on the table as the rest all stared at him in fascinated horror, touched with anticipation of his response.

He calmly took another sip of wine, and then let his lips curl into a smile, his eyes resting on the outfit of the bitch who had spoken.

“No one pays that much for street trash” he replied, “which is probably why you couldn't afford this season's colours.”

  
  


“You're making enemies...”

Yurio linked his arm through Sara's, resting his head against her shoulder for a moment as they walked. “They hate me because I'm beautiful” he quipped, and she laughed out loud.

“They hate you because you're having sex with beautiful. It's envy, pure and simple.”

“Maybe they'd have more luck chasing a man who likes women. Or vultures.”

She laughed again, patting his hand fondly. “I really love you, you know?”

“Not as much as I do” he replied, setting off another laugh. Pointing at an expensive boutique across the street, he added “Kileys has a new line in, wanna go look?”

“Definitely.”

 

Socialising with Sara Crispino had become a regular part of his life since Otabek had agreed to allow him to gather intel on the twins. Neither he or Sara had any doubts that they were enemies, but somewhere under the social niceties and the pretence, they had discovered that they genuinely enjoyed each other's company. Sara found Yurio's savage humour delightful, and he enjoyed her charisma and presence.

Her existing social circle had admitted him grudgingly, most of the women high enough on the food chain to get away with bitchy quips, but not enough to risk actually ignoring him. He'd found himself floating at the top of a den of thieves... or at least, their wives and mistresses.

He was the only male.

Gathering intel consisted of running the lies Sara told him “in confidence” through a series of filters including, but not limited to: what she told her friends, what they told each other, what they told Yurio, what they pretended not to know, and what he overheard from people around them when they were out together.

Although they never talked about “the business”, they darted around the topics with stories of Sara's wild parties and continued affair with Emil, and Yurio's frequent “weekend breaks” to various parts of Europe on the arm of his beloved. It was a dangerous social game, but the risks were worth the reward. Judging by how Otabek had managed to crush every move Michele had made over the last few months, at least some of Yurio's careful filtering had produced useable results.

Michele and Otabek kept up a public show of disgust that Sara and Yurio were 'friends', joking aloud when they met that the pair were planning to “ruin their image as rivals”. The jokes got the same type of sycophantic laughter, and everyone around them knew the two men were itching to kill each other. Through all the unspoken tension, Sara and Yurio weaved a complicated dance of move, and counter move.

  
  


When he was in the process of filtering information, Yurio talked to Katsuki.

  
  


Arriving back home that evening and finding Otabek and Victor still out, gnawing over some information Sara had dropped on him, Yurio got changed into his favourite silk pyjamas and made his way to Katsuki's suite. Usually, the housekeeper would be curled up in bed lying awake waiting for Victor to come home, so his visits served the dual purpose of helping Yurio sort through his thoughts, and distracting the older man from the ball of tension and nerves he was in without the presence of his husband.

Katsuki opened the door on his second knock, and Yurio couldn't help but gawk at him. He'd obviously been getting ready for bed, and was naked apart from a pair of black boxers. Yurio was uncharacteristically stuck for words as he took in the sight, dumbly following his friend into the suite and watching awestruck as he pulled on a robe and flicked on the coffee maker.

Yurio had heard stories by now about what Victor and his husband got up to in the bedroom. He'd dismissed most of it as idle gossip, brought on by Victor's role as Otabek's left hand man. Now, he was faced with the evidence, and discovered an oddly prudish sense of revulsion. Irritated with himself, he squashed it immediately that he recognised it.

The largest, most obvious scars were across Katsuki's abdomen, from the bullets that had taken him off the front line, and the surgeries that had saved his life afterwards. Strangely, they almost went unnoticed in the rest of the tapestry. Every inch of his chest, from collarbone to hips, was covered in scars from shallow cuts. Some areas had been repeatedly cut so often that there was nothing but jagged scar tissue left.

Alongside the scars were over a dozen fresh wounds, in various stages of healing. Some were cuts, others clearly bites. All looked light, but deep enough to bleed. Yurio forced his mind away from the thought of the pain inflicted on the smaller man.

As he turned to grab his robe, his back presented a similar picture, although this time Yurio recognised the scars as being from repeated, excessive use of whips and floggers. He had a few of those himself, he knew.

Across the middle of his back, where he could never have reached by himself, and where anyone who might be having sex with him would see it, was an piece of ornate scarification in the form of a word: Ви́ктор, the cyrillic for Victor.

Somewhere, Yurio managed to find his voice. “S-sorry to disturb you...”

“Mmm.” Katsuki caught his shocked silence and waved at his own body dismissively. “Now you know why I don't sunbathe. You're probably the second person in this house to find that out. Are you shocked?”

“Yes” the blonde replied honestly, knowing that a lie would see him booted out of the rooms. Rather more gently, he added “but not surprised. It's not like you two hide your... preferences.”

Giving him an amused look, the Japanese man poured coffee for them both and then curled up on one of the couches. Yurio did the same opposite, watching in fascination as the robe shifted, revealing more scars on Katsuki's forearms and legs.

“We are what we are” Katsuki said, slightly whimsically. “You didn't come here to see me naked though” he pointed out, and Yurio blushed despite himself.

“Of course not. I wanted to run something by you. Before I talk to Beka.”

“Mmm. As weird as you find my scars, that's nothing to how weird it is to hear you call Altin by a pet name.”

They both laughed at that.

“I think Alessandro has made a decision. He's going to give the reins to the twins next week.”

The conversation had been based around an outfit Sara wanted to buy. She'd hinted that it had to be extremely special for a big occasion, but unusually she'd picked a style that was bordering on demure. Yurio had listened carefully while pretending to be distracted by uploading a selfie to Instagram, and picked up on a deadline of the following week for fitting and final delivery. She'd also ordered a matching suit, in Michele's measurements. He'd spent enough time shopping with her to know them by heart.

Katsuki sipped his coffee, listening to Yurio's reasoning. Several months of being the blonde's confidant in these things had taught him that Yurio was both highly intelligent and very shrewd. He kept meaning to find the time to teach the younger man how to play chess – he was sure he'd be a lethal opponent in no time.

“If you're right, we could be looking at a move any time in the next few months” he pointed out, and the blonde made an unhappy face. “You don't want to risk pushing Altin in the wrong direction” Katsuki surmised.

“I know he never does anything based only on my intel...”

“How do you know that?”

Yurio stared at him, his mouth open. After a few blank moments, he said “well... it... why would he?”

“He trusts your instincts. You were right about the leak from the docks.”

“He checked that out himself.”

“No, backtracked the info to make sure he was protected if anyone asked questions. After he'd dealt with the problem.”

Yurio gaped at him.

“You underestimate your value to him constantly” Katsuki said, narrowing his eyes. “Why do you do that?”

Shaking his head, he tried to put sensible words around it and failed, eventually going with “I'm just a street rat. I'm not worth anything.”

Katsuki rolled his eyes in disgust. “I can't believe _I'm_ the one saying this, but you should consider therapy. Your self esteem issues are staggering.” Seeing the look on Yurio's face, he switched back to the original topic. “Tell him what you just told me. If you're right, he needs to know.”

 

Two days later, Otabek called an emergency meeting. He included Katsuki as well as his normal council of Victor, Giacometti and Dianya, a tall Kazakhstani woman who ran most of the business across Northern Europe. Yurio, much to the blonde's amazement, received an invitation as well.

“Yurio brought me some intel that checks out” he began, and everyone but Katsuki glanced curiously at the blonde. “Next Wednesday, Alessandro Crispino is having a large gathering of all the heads of the Family. He's going to retire, and give the reins to the twins, Michele and Sara.”

Muttering filled the room for a moment, before Otabek continued. “Once that's done, Michele is going to break our truce and try to retake the docks in Genoa. He's also going to try and take me out.”

Yurio felt something heavy and cold wrap around his heart.

“He's been making deals with the Chinese, and with the Angels” Giacometti supplied. “We think he's agreeing new drug routes through Genoa, in preparation for taking our holdings at the docks.”

“What about Athens?” asked Dianya, and Giacometti shrugged. “Nothing yet” he replied, and Yurio remembered that the Mediterranean shipping lanes was his area of control.

“ _Why_ is he doing this” Victor asked, resting his nose against Katsuki's arm. As usual, the smaller man was sat on his lap, one arm around his neck.

“Because of Berlin” Otabek responded, and everyone apart from Yurio made an _ah_ of comprehension. Noticing his look, Giacometti provided a summary, unexpectedly inclusive of the blonde for once.

“Berlin used to be one of the Crispino supply routes. Altin took it about three years ago, and when Michele tried to reclaim it, he got his pride and his face stomped on. When Alessandro accepted the truce, it was partly because of Michele's failure to reclaim the Berlin route. We returned it in favour of taking the docks at Genoa. Basically, Otabek played them like a fiddle and they had no choice but to go along with it and pretend it was their idea.”

Victor made an annoyed sound, and said “I should have killed him in Berlin when I had the chance. Little shit, he's as slippery as a greased eel when his hide is on the line.”

“Is that why he... tried to sabotage the parley two years ago?” Yurio had nearly said _why Katsuki got shot_ but bit it back at the last moment. Mentioning that incident was a good way to make Victor go up in flames, even after all this time.

“Exactly. He knew it was his last shot at taking me out without disrespecting his father. He's been hobbled by the truce for two years now.”

“It's traditional, when there's a change of power, to review all alliances and agreements” Dianya said, leaning back in her chair. “If they were planning to renew the truce, we'd have been contacted by now.”

“They're hoping to keep the transfer of power quiet then” Giacometti said, and Yurio shook his head with a slight murmur. Realising all eyes were on him again, he chewed his lip thoughtfully before he spoke, unaccustomed to voicing his thoughts in such company.

“They're planning something else” he paused, and was astonished when everyone waited patiently for him. Otabek's eyes were on him, and the look in them was almost... proud. “I think they're going to try and make _you_ break the truce, then they can react. I'd expect to see an invitation in the next few days.”

“Can you explain your thinking?” Otabek asked, his tone gentle. Yurio nodded, knowing that he wasn't being challenged, but that sometimes he leaped ahead without taking his listener with him.

“Sara was too obvious. She fed me the intel, she wanted me to know about the takeover. There's no other reason why she would want me with her when she was ordering her outfit for the party.” He paused, looking for the words he wanted and not finding them in Italian. Pulling a slight face, he switched to Russian, trusting Otabek to translate for him.

“They want to make you hypervigilant, so you'll overreact when they push you. They've been feeding you enough intel to put you on edge. The snitch in Genoa was too obvious, and so was the customs raid at Nice.”

Otabek stared at him, smiling. “I constantly underestimate how much you're learning” he said softly in Russian, and then switched to Italian to translate Yurio's words to the others. Victor gave Yurio a wink.

Giacometti sat back with a huff, nodding his way through the explanation. “I'll double check the customs raid, but I think you're right. If we break the truce, not only will the Crispino's have justification for coming after us, but Uncle Yakov will be furious as well and we might lose our support from Moscow.”

“Uncle Yakov can kiss my ass if he thinks I'm going to sit around and let them take pot shots at Altin” Victor growled, and Katsuki nudged him, chiding his rudeness in Japanese. The others laughed slightly, nodding.

“Bite your tongue Victor” Otabek said, without malice. “Chris, what are our chances of getting a secure meet with Georgi by next week?”

“Nil. He's in America at the moment.”

“Hmm. OK.” Otabek stood up and stretched, indicating that the meeting was closed. “Go get some food and take a break. We'll come back after dinner and strategise.”

He gathered Yurio under his arm as they all left the room.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we need some sexy times to break up the plot :D Next chapter will be at least 50% OtaYuri smut!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much less smut than I was expecting, but still some!
> 
> Enough fluff to rot your teeth, be warned.

The arm around him tugged him in the direction of their bedroom, and Yurio smiled as he saw Otabek's jaw tighten. He'd learned to recognise the signs of his lover's urgent need for sexual contact, and he happily followed him upstairs. He wasn't expecting Otabek to start pulling his clothes off as soon as they were hidden from view in the hallway. By the time they reached the bedroom, Yurio was stripped to the waist and Otabek was following suit.

“Beka... what...”

The blonde groaned as he felt lips against his throat, and gave up on talking for a while.

They hit the bed, the last of their clothing falling to the floor. Otabek's hands were everywhere, wanting to touch every part of him, kisses harsh and breathless, Yurio's body responding to the hunger in his lover; within minutes, he was sat astride the brunette, easing down onto him with a soft moan. Impatient, rough hands gripped his hips, pulling him hard against the other man, and despite the pain of the stretch, he cried out in pleasure as Otabek hilted himself.

The pace he set still wasn't enough for the Kazakh, and he found himself pushed onto his back, his lover taking over the speed and depth with a growl. Teeth found his collarbone and he wrapped his legs around his lover's waist, heat filling him.

“Ah... _Beka..._ fuck... oh fuck...”

He heard Otabek growling and cursing as well, his thrusts becoming wild. Slipping a hand down to stroke himself, he cried out again at his own touch, hips bucking up to meet his lover.

They hit their climax together, and the world went away for a while.

  
  


“Beka... what _was_ that?”

Otabek grunted, his arms tightly around the blonde. They'd eventually subsided, panting and gasping, and ended up snuggled into the pillows together. Once they were able to focus again, Yurio rested his hand over Otabek's pounding heart, kissing his jaw softly.

“Sorry...”

“Don't be sorry” he kissed the brunette softly. “I loved it. Just... where did it come from?”

Otabek shifted position so he could meet turquoise eyes. “You... downstairs.. my god Yura, you have no idea what you do to me.”

“I... I don't understand.” Genuinely confused, Yurio nuzzled his neck. “You mean the information I had?”

Muttering something in Kazakh, Otabek forced himself to sit up, pulling Yurio up beside him. “I love you” he replied, and the blonde smiled slightly.

“I love you too.”

“You don't get it.” Otabek paused for a moment, trying to put into words the emotions that had hit him during the meeting. “You... you're becoming powerful, my love. It's... intoxicating.”

Pressing his nose against Otabek's shoulder, the blonde automatically made a noise of disagreement. He heard a soft rumble in response, and felt Otabek sink his fingers into his hair.

“Do you know how long we've been together?”

“Nearly three months” Yurio replied, and got a much louder, irritated rumble.

“Nine months” Otabek corrected, kissing his scalp. “Nine months since I met you, and realised I was going to fall utterly, completely in love with you.”

Yurio blinked. “Nine months ago I was working at the club” he protested, and Otabek chuckled.

“Yes, you were. Giving a stranger a lapdance that turned into the best night of his life.”

The noise this time was both disagreement and a touch of shame, and Otabek kissed him properly. “Yes, yes it was” he argued, running his hands over Yurio's shoulders. “I knew that night, that we would end up together, it was inevitable. I had no idea what you'd become though.”

“I'm just... me. No different... better clothes, better fed. Better cared for. But still just... I'm just a whore that got incredibly lucky.”

Otabek tilted his chin up, and spoke firmly and clearly. “Don't ever call yourself that again. Ever.”

Yurio flushed, shaking his head and dropping his eyes. The finger under his jaw became a stronger grip, and Otabek pressed their noses together to make him meet his eyes. “Promise me” he said, and the blonde nodded reluctantly.

“I promise.”

Kissing him felt like a good way to seal that deal, so Otabek didn't fight the urge. After a long few minutes of lips and soft, loving murmurs, he pulled back again. It felt essential to communicate his thoughts to the smaller man.

“You've learned so much... I always knew you were fearless, but I had no idea how terrifying you'd become.”

The blonde stared at him in astonishment. “Terrifying?” he protested, and Otabek nodded.

“Terrifying” he agreed, smiling a little. “You're probably the most valuable intelligence resource I have right now, and you don't even realise it. You spend every day manipulating the significant others of half of the mafia bosses in Italy, without breaking a sweat. When you're not doing that, you're beating a ruthless murderer at poker on a regular basis, or watching black & white movies with one of the most prolific serial killers this country has ever seen. Every night, you fall asleep in the arms of one of the most hated and feared men in Europe.”

“That's... but that's not my experience at all” Yurio murmured, and Otabek raised an eyebrow. “All I do is talk to people, and listen to what they have to say. The rest of it... I love Victor and Yuuri, they're my friends. I know they'd never hurt me unless they had to. And... and you... I fall asleep every night in the arms of the man I adore. Nothing about you frightens me.”

Otabek shook his head, his expression showing his amusement and pride. “That you even think like that... I've always called you kitten, but you're not a kitten. You're a tiger.” A memory struck him and he laughed. “Victor always knew that about you. He called you a tiger from the first day he met you.”

Burrowing his head back into Otabek's chest, Yurio thought back to his conversation with Katsuki. The idea that he was valuable to his lover was almost painful in its intensity. Blinking back sudden tears, he snuffled a little.

“I... just want to be with you. And I'm not fearless. I'm afraid right now.”

“Afraid of what?”

Another snuffle, and Otabek stroked his hair softly.

“I'm afraid of what's c-coming... they're going to try and k-kill you.”

Holding him as tight as he dared, Otabek rumbled soothingly. “I'm not going to let them do that.”

  
  


“What's on your mind?”

Katsuki watched the lanky Russian clean his revolver, enjoying the sight of Victor's long fingers moving over oily metal, almost as if he were caressing the weapon. His expression wasn't the usual relaxed calm that such routine activities usually brought him. Silver eyebrows were drawn together, his blue eyes unfocused. Lost inside his thoughts, he didn't react to the soft question until it was repeated in Japanese, pulling his attention to his lover.

“Otabek. Crispino. The whole fucking mess.”

“You're remembering the parley.” It wasn't a question.

“I've never wanted to kill anyone so much” Victor murmured.

Katsuki raised an eyebrow, and said “so why don't you?”

A soft noise of irritation. “You know why. The truce. All that shit.”

“So you're saying if Crispino dies for _any reason,_ it automatically becomes our fault?”

Victor stared at him for a long moment, then grinned savagely.

  
  


The little group reassembled in the study a few hours after dinner, fortified with red wine and biscuits. Victor spoke first, his expression hectic and slightly wild, Katsuki sat on his lap looking utterly calm, eyes far away. Yurio noted a new bandage just visible under the neck of his shirt and smiled slightly.

“I have an idea. Well, Yuuri's idea really... don't say no straight away.”

Otabek gave him a speculative look. “OK.”

Nudged gently by his husband, Katsuki seemed to return from whatever mental plane he was currently on and passed a terrifyingly blank look around the group. Yurio wondered if he was even capable of feeling emotion at the moment.

“The only solution to the problem is for the twins to die, in a way that cannot be connected to us. We can claim ignorance, perhaps even ensure that Otabek and Chris are out of the country at the time. Ironclad alibis for Victor and for the rest of the men.”

“Are you suggesting we hire an assassin?” Giacometti asked, sounding skeptical. Katuski shook his head.

“No. That would be traceable. I'm suggesting that I do it.”

Otabek made a slightly surprised noise, but the rest of them just gaped at him. Yurio felt his own jaw drop open.

“I can gain access to their residence in MIlan and take them both out at the same time. All I would need is a guaranteed time when they are there, and some equipment.”

“That's ridiculous” Giacometti said, his eyes narrow. “How the hell would you...”

“I've done it before. Two people at once is not as difficult as you might think. Especially if they're distracted, or asleep.”

There was a delicate pause, and Giacometti turned to Otabek. “Explain.”

To Yurio's astonishment, Otabek had the grace to look slightly sheepish for a moment. “He's had a number of... private... jobs over the years. Things you didn't need to know about.”

The oath sounded almost pretty in German, but Giacometti's expression was definitely ugly. “How many _jobs_.”

“Enough to keep my hand in” Katsuki said passively. “I've also adapted to a number of different styles.”

“You're saying you can make it look like another gang?”

“Yes.”

Giacometti turned to Otabek, eyebrow raised. “You've known about this for two years, yet you didn't think about going after Crispino until now?”

Sounding disgusted, Otabek shook his head. “I've _thought_ about it many times. It's never been worth it.” Seeing his cousin's face close down, he clarified “it was never the right time. The results would have been too detrimental, or chaotic. The truce was holding, and we were in a good position. Things have changed now.”

 

During the conversation that followed – about likely repercussions, practical issues and other aspects, Yurio watched Victor's face. His expression was still slightly wild, but there was something in it that the blonde couldn't immediately place. It wasn't until he realised Victor's hand was resting over Katsuki's stomach almost protectively that he understood what he was seeing. He hadn't recognised it because he'd never seen it before, and probably neither had the rest of the room.

Victor was afraid.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the comments, kudos and bookmarks. They all mean so much to me, and it is giving me so much drive to keep writing. Thank yooooou~


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: descriptions of murder, knives.
> 
> It's time...

Soft sounds in the darkness; skin against skin, low moans of pleasure. The creak of the bed, the movements of silk sheets.

They'd entered the room an hour before, going through the motions of preparing for bed. Lights flickered on in the bathroom, the shower running. Long hair being brushed out, teeth being cleaned.

When their weight had settled in the canopied bed, they'd talked for a while. Italian accents purring over the words, they'd discussed their plans for the takeover, the order of business for the party the following night.

Eventually, they'd turned off the lights, and reached for each other.

As they lost themselves to their illicit pleasure, the darkness beneath the bed shifted.

 

Katsuki had reached the bedroom several hours before. Three days of hidden observations had given him the rounds for the guards and confirmation of the continued failure of the security to check the interiors of the house, convinced they would be aware of trespassers breaching the grounds. Giacometti's estate security regularly checked the rooms, after Katsuki had demonstrated early in his employment how easy it would be to enter the house if one had the right skillset.

The Crispino family were arrogant in their power, and in their belief that they were untouchable.

Selecting his spot beneath the bed, he'd slipped into place and waited. His slim frame made barely an impact as he silently folded himself into place beneath the mattress, using the slats as a brace for his arms and legs. Body off the floor, the only way he would be detected was by someone putting their whole head underneath the bed and looking up.

Flexing his muscles in tiny increments, he kept his body relaxed and ready, without moving from his position. His tools rested comfortably in the belt around his waist. Dressed entirely in skintight, dark grey clothing, his entire body and face were covered.

He kept his breathing regular and silent as he waited.

 

Their movements picked up speed, moans becoming louder. The darkness detached itself silently from beneath the bed and as they reached the height of their pleasure, it struck.

His blade made no noise as it entered the side of Michele Crispino's neck.

Before her brother could even twitch from the fatal wound, the second blade opened Sara Crispino's throat from ear to ear.

  
  


“How tragic” Otabek said blankly, reading the newspaper report from his phone. Described as a “fatal home invasion, possibly gang related”, the writer clearly enjoyed themselves with detailing the unusual features of the deaths, fuelling speculation with comparisons to Triad kills.

Stretched out on his own sun lounger, Yurio felt a slight pang. The heat in Tunisia was too much for him to cope with prolonged physical contact, but he took Otabek's hand for a moment, needing to close the gap between them.

“I'll miss Sara” he said, unable to stop the sadness in his voice. Otabek squeezed his fingers lightly in understanding.

  
  


When they arrived back in Italy, it was to attend the funeral. Alessandro Crispino had insisted on their presence; Giacometti suspected it was to look Otabek in the eye and confirm for himself if the Altin Family were involved.

They'd taken enough firepower and guards to start a small war, but in the end it had been unnecessary. Otabek had given his regrets to the old man, and Yurio could tell he was genuine. He hadn't wanted to order  _both_ their deaths, after all; he'd had no choice. Otabek was very good at channelling genuine emotion where he needed it to go.

Victor stayed in the limo, aware that he would be unable to show anything approaching the right emotions to the public. Katsuki hadn't even left the estate.

Unexpectedly, several of the members of Sara's inner circle had shown genuine desire to comfort Yurio, who had only made it through half the eulogy before starting to cry, silently leaning against Otabek's shoulder. He couldn't help himself; Sara had been a dangerous enemy, but also the closest friend he'd had outside of the estate.

Otabek had taken a few moments to notice his tears, but his reaction to them had probably been the final selling point for the Crispino Family. He'd slipped an arm around the blonde and rested his cheek against his scalp, his expression clouded and his need to comfort his lover easily misread as anger about the deaths. When he told Crispino that he was sorry for his loss, the old man took in the red-eyed blonde at his side and Otabek's own dark expression, and unexpectedly took the Kazakh in a rough embrace. Yurio was close enough to hear the emotion in the Italian's voice when he murmured “I'll be needing your help to avenge this. I'm going to gut every damn Triad in Italy.”

Otabek had clasped his hand and nodded, his eyes sincere.

  
  


“Crispino's going to go to war.”

Giacometti flopped onto the sofa, stretching his legs out with a contended sigh. They were in the lounge of the main house, watching one of the staff light the fire for the first time that season. Yurio had been dozing off after lunch, nestled in Otabek's arms and listening to the rain. He stirred himself as the Swiss man entered the room.

“With who?” Otabek asked, nestling his arms tighter around the blonde and making a peaceful noise. His breath ghosted across the back of Yurio's neck, and he wriggled deeper into the embrace.

“Guang Hong Ji and every other member of Sun Yee On in the country, by the sounds of it.” The fire caught, and they watched for a moment as the flames danced, consuming the paper and kindling and spreading the first tendrils of heat into the room.  December in MIlan was cold.

“They're still denying involvement in the twins death?”

“Of course. But Crispino apparently has proof that the Triads were involved.” Otabek made a noise of interest, but Giacometti only shrugged. 

“Do _we_ have any evidence?”

It took a great deal of effort for Yurio to avoid looking up at his lover at that. He kept his eyes fixed on the flames, his expression carefully interested but calm.

“Hmmm... only rumours. I'm working on it” Giacometti said, also staring at the fire. “Do you want me to pass anything on to Crispino if I get it?”

“Yes” Otabek said, comfortably. “He asked me for help at the funeral.”

Katsuki entered the room, balancing a tray of coffee and a mobile phone which he handed to Giacometti. The Swiss pulled a face at having to move, and left the room cradling the phone to his ear. Eyeing Otabek and Yurio, the slim housekeeper inquired if they needed anything, then left when they shook their heads.

 

“I need something from you though” Yurio said, once they were alone. Otabek made a sultry noise in his ear and he shook his head. “Apart from that.”

“Anything for you” Otabek's smile faded as Yurio turned serious eyes on him.

“I want to learn how to use a gun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> O.o why does Yurio want a gun???


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Conflict?! O_o

“You're getting less terrible at this.”

Yurio pulled his ear protectors down and raised an eyebrow, and Victor repeated his statement with a chuckle. “I feel like I should be offended by that”, the blonde replied, wincing. His head was ringing from the sounds of the firing range, even with his ears covered, and he stank of gunshot residue, acrid and metallic tasting in the back of his throat.

Victor gestured for him to go again, swapping the targets out. Sighting down the barrel, Yurio gritted his teeth and pulled the trigger three times in quick succession. As he lowered the gun, the mechanism of the range brought the target rattling back towards them. Three neat holes clustered within a few inches of the bullseye, not quite overlapping. Taking the paper, Victor replaced it and sent it back to its position half way down the range.

“Arms hurting yet?”

Yurio made a rude noise, but nodded. His arms felt like painful, damp spaghetti, despite the relatively light weight of the customised GSh-18 he was slowly becoming familiar with.

“You're still too tense” Victor stepped up beside him, holding his own pistol at chest height. “Feel my arm” he said, and Yurio ran his hand carefully over the muscles of his shoulder, astonished at how loose they were. “When you fire, you need to keep your joints soft and let your muscles take the recoil” the hitman said, releasing three shots once Yurio stepped away from him. The target came forward obediently, one single hole through the exact centre of the bullseye still smoking from the impact of all three bullets.

“Enough for today” the taller Russian said, holstering his weapon and indicating Yurio should do the same. The weight of the gun felt strange against his hip, and he was still struggling with the urge to clutch at it to prevent it moving as he walked. Picking up his coat, he glanced at his last target, then pocketed it. Victor nodded with an approving smile.

 

The 'discussion' around the gun had lasted three days, and it was the first time in their relationship that Otabek and Yurio had ever shouted at each other, or even really disagreed. The reaction from the rest of the household would have been funny, if they hadn't both been so upset and angry at the time.

Initial yelling in the lounge had brought Giacometti and Katsuki into the room at a run, but instead of the attack they expected, they found Otabek and Yurio standing in the middle of the room, yelling at each other in Russian. The Kazakh's expression was dark and hooded, but Yurio looked practically mutinous. Unable to fully understand what they were seeing or hearing, the two hardened killers slowly backed into the doorway and stared at each other in something approaching terror.

The row lasted well into the night, ending with Yurio slamming the door to his suite hard enough to splinter the frame. Otabek had taken out some of his rage on an innocent set of vases in the corridor, then trashed his own room with a barrage of curses in Kazakh.

Breakfast was a silent affair, with Otabek steaming in quiet fury and Giacometti trying very hard to hide in the corner of the office. Victor, arriving late after a night away from the estate, looked at his boss carefully and then settled down silently in his own chair. Obviously, Katsuki had relayed the events of the evening.

That afternoon, the two lovers ran across each other in the hallway, and exchanged very brief words that quickly escalated into day two of screaming at each other. It ended the same way as the day before, in separate rooms, breaking various bits of furniture. Potya hid herself in Victor's suite in terror.

  
“Do we actually know _what_ they're fighting about” the tall Russian asked Giacometti as they made the two hour drive to Genoa the next morning. Passing a hand over his eyes, the other man made a disgusted noise.

“Yurio wants to learn to shoot. Otabek flipped. Something about not wanting guns anywhere near him.”

“That's ridiculous. He's constantly surrounded by guns. What's Otabek on about?”

Screwing up his nose, Giacometti shook his head. “I think he wants to preserve Yurio's innocence. Such as it is. He hates the thought of him killing anyone.”

Victor thought about that. “What's the protocol on disrespect from a significant other? I mean, we don't get involved, right?”

“Definitely not” Giacometti shuddered, “no fucking way am I getting in the middle of that.”

Victor nodded, relieved. “Why does Yurio want a gun, anyway?”

“Sara.” Seeing the blank look on Victor's face, he sighed. “I forget that you don't have human feelings. He's scared, Victor. Sara's death probably made him realise how easily he can die. That's my guess.”

 

“Christophe, as usual, has no idea what he's talking about” Katsuki replied, when Victor ran that past him later. “If it was just self protection, Otabek wouldn't have a problem with it.”

“Oh. What is it then?”

“Yurio told him he wanted the gun because he doesn't want to be helpless if someone comes for Otabek. He wants to protect him.”

“Ah. But... that makes sense though. Why would that be a problem?”

Neither of them had an answer for that, and they stared at each other, mystified.

  
By day three, Otabek had to admit defeat. The tension was agonising, and two nights without Yurio in his bed had put an ache in his heart that he couldn't stand. The blonde was intractable in his request, and had demonstrated that he was quite willing to starve the Kazakh sexually and emotionally until he got his own way. Privately, despite his anger, Otabek couldn't help but be proud of his tiny tiger. Besides, it wasn't about the gun. Not really.

The initial request had been met with scepticism, but Otabek hadn't seen too much harm in it. It was the answer to his follow up questions that had made him see red. Asking why Yurio suddenly wanted to learn to shoot, the blonde had ducked his head and quietly explained that he hated the idea of not being able to protect Otabek, if they were in danger.

The words he wished he could take back, which wrote themselves in fire inside his eyes when he wearily tried to sleep on the third night, were possibly the most crushing and stupid thing he could have said to the blonde: _Why the hell would_ you _want to protect_ me _??_

Yurio's expression had folded in distress at the tone, and his reply had been delivered in blistering Russian with such a heavy Moscow dialect that Otabek had only just been able to understand him.

“I'd _die_ for you, you stupid bastard. I love you!”

The thought of Yurio putting himself in danger for him had caused a red mist to descend, and that had only really given the blonde two choices; escalate into a full temper, or back down entirely.

Otabek had dished out more large helpings of stupidity, raging at the idea of Yurio getting his hands dirty, or the blonde trying to turn himself into a soldier. Yurio had accused him of being ridiculous and he'd dialled it up to eleven, laying down the law as the Boss. Yurio had responded with white hot fury, demanding to know how he could talk to him like a _boyevik_ but then deny him a weapon.

Things had rapidly degenerated from there.

Grudgingly, Otabek had to admit that he'd forced his lover's hand.

  
The knock on Yurio's door was answered immediately, and the glare from the blonde at the sight of him made his stomach twist painfully. Otabek raised his hands in a placating gesture, and Yurio reluctantly let him into the suite.

Which had been trashed.

The smaller man had taken his temper out on everything around him when yelling at Otabek had resulted in a stalemate. Even the wall mounted TV had suffered, the remains of the chair that had been hurled at it still hanging from the broken screen. Looking around at the devastation, Otabek wondered if Yurio even _needed_ a gun. He was capable of significant damage all by himself.

Remembering the state of his own suite with a wince, Otabek gingerly toed the arm of the broken couch and looked at his beloved. The blonde was standing with his arms folded across his chest, waiting for the Kazakh to speak. His breathing was rapid, and his face was flushed, but he wasn't yelling yet.

“I'm an idiot” Otabek rumbled, and he saw Yurio's jaw drop in surprise. He'd obviously expected to have to go for round four.

When the blonde didn't reply, Otabek crossed to him. Taking his hands, he uncurled his slender arms from his body and drew him into an embrace. Only the smallest resistance indicated that Yurio was still braced to fight.

“Forgive me, my love.”

“Does this mean...”

“You can do whatever you want” Otabek conceded, tilting his chin to look at him. His eyes were red and puffy, the stress of the last few days apparent. Realising he'd been making Yurio cry as well as rage twisted his gut even further, and he murmured soft apologies in Kazakh, feathering kisses across his face. “I'm so sorry, my love. I'm a stupid, thoughtless, selfish man. Please, tell me you forgive me.”

Melting under his kisses and words, the blonde could do little more than murmur his acceptance before he began to cry softly in relief, pressing his face into Otabek's chest.

  
Yurio's customised weapon was the end result of several days of making up. Katsuki expressed his feelings over the state of the house, making the guest suite up for them while the damage to their rooms was fixed. His tone was gentle though, and Otabek, with another touch of guilt, realised how much the extended argument had affected the rest of the household. The lovers barely left the bedroom for the first two days.

Victor, of course, was unimpressed by the events due to the stress it had caused Katsuki, and only Otabek's irritated rumble stopped his scolding.

When Giacometti delivered the lightened pistol with gold inlay on the grip a week later, he gave Otabek a gentle pat on the arm in solidarity.

“You survived your first lovers quarrel” he pointed out, ignoring the look Otabek was giving him. “You've cleared the last test.”

“Last test? What are you talking about.”

“The three tests before marriage: fuck each other, live with each other, fight with each other.”

“Is that some mad Swiss bullshit?”

“It's just good sense, dear cousin. You should consider buying him a ring.”

Otabek made a thoughtful noise, and Giacometti left the office with a chuckle.

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Kidnapping, torture, character death

Listening to the clatter and chaos of the kitchen behind him, Guang Hong Ji let his eyes drift over the man sitting opposite him. The informant was pale and shivering, the drug withdrawal starting to kick in. His words, in halting Cantonese, were breathless and full of fear.

The head of the Italian branch of Sun Yee On held up a hand, and his men led the informant away. His second in command slid into place opposite him silently.

“Well?” Guang Hong asked, picking up the smell of the waiter bringing his food. As he began to eat his pork rice, the dark haired man opposite organised his thoughts.

“Crispino's 'evidence' is definitely false. It was fed to him by the Russians. Probably Moscow.” The tiny twitch of Seung-gil Lee's eyebrows expressed a world of feelings about that, and Guang Hong couldn't help but smile.

“The twins deaths were definitely not ordered by Beijing.”

“Definitely not.”

Sighing, he set his chopsticks down and waved away the food, opting for tea instead and indicating that it wasn't the restaurant's fault. His appetite wasn't great at the moment anyway.

In the three months since the death of the Crispino twins, Crispino senior had been working his way through the Triads like a man possessed. Drug routes all across Europe had been compromised, and Guang Hong had lost over a dozen men in various attacks. The pressure from mainland China was becoming stifling, cumulating this week with some very thinly veiled implications about Guang Hong's continued ability to lead. Aware that his neck was very firmly on the line, he'd experienced a mark drop in both his appetite and his patience.

“We still don't know how. Or who actually made the kill. All of Altin's men were accounted for, and Altin and Giacometti were out of the country.”

Seung-gil rested his elbows on the table, running a thumb over his lower lip. His eyes narrowed as he said “I have a theory about that...”

  
“How is this possible?” Guang Hong demanded, setting the file down on his desk. “Twenty one people over the last two years... no links to Altin, no connections in method, equipment, location...”

“Yet every single one of them were on Altin's radar as a problem. They all went away, without a single link to Altin or his people.”

“Hmmm. He didn't claim any of them?”

“None. They stopped just short of undermining him, so he didn't need to save face.”

“Prove it to me.”

Seung-gil tossed a photograph in front of his boss, then wrapped his arms around his chest. “Yuuri Katsuki-Nikiforov, age 27. Currently employed as Otabek's housekeeper, after taking three bullets at the Crispino parley two years ago. Before that, he was one of Giacometti's best guns, second only to Nikiforov.”

“I remember him from the Hong Kong heroin deal” Guang Hong said. “Odd man, always looking through you rather than at you. Why do you think it was him?”

“Two reasons. It's impossible to tell if he's accounted for on the night, since he almost always stays on the Altin estate. He's also responsible for _this_ ” Seung-gil passed a set of photographs across the table, images of a severely butchered corpse. “Altin ordered the hit, but there's no way Nikiforov or Giacometti did this. The police tagged it as the work of the Milan Bone Thief, a serial killer they never tracked down, or even got any leads on.”

“Ah” Guang Hong nodded, understanding. Seung-gil had a deep and unhealthy obsession with serial killers and the more excessive end of the scale of violence. He'd probably been following the case at the time.

“A week after this, Katsuki started working for Altin. Two months later, he and Victor got engaged. After he was benched, give or take a few months for recovery and his wedding to Victor, these... unusual deaths started.” Seeing the blank look on his bosses face, Seung-gil elaborated. “Victor has... quite a specific type. His last public relationship was with Svarslav Vokovski, a prolific serial killer from Uzbekistan.”

“It's a leap, and there's no real evidence.”

“No, there isn't. But I'm convinced.”

Picking up the first photograph again, Guang Hong took a long look at the beautiful, blank face of Yuuri Katsuki-Nikiforov.

“We need him to talk, to provide proof for Crispino. Can you get to him?”

The tiny smile on Seung-gil's face was enough of an answer.

  
Yurio was the first to realise something was wrong.

He'd developed a habit of snapchatting Katsuki with pictures of Potya whenever the Japanese man had to leave the estate overnight, with captions like “checking on the chefs” and “doing the rounds of the bedrooms”. Although he'd expected it to amuse the other man, he hadn't been prepared for the almost immediate snaps back, selfies or videos with “instructions” for the cat to continue managing the house in Katsuki's absence.

This particular evening, Katsuki and Victor had been scoping out a nightclub location for a party Otabek wanted to throw the following month. The game was well into its third or fourth return snap when Yurio took a shower. Exiting and making his way downstairs to meet Otabek for dinner, he idly checked his phone for the reply and froze in the doorway to the dining room, head tilted to one side and an expression of confusion on his face. There was no reply to his last snap.

Otabek looked up at the curious noise the blonde made, and immediately moved to his side. “What's wrong, kitten?”

“Katsuki... he's not answering. He always answers.”

 

The next few hours were chaotic. Yurio spent them tucked worriedly into the couch in Otabek's office, while his lover organised the search for the Katsuki-Nikiforovs. Giacometti arrived just after midnight, his clothes and hair mussed. He'd been at a social engagement in the city, and had been trying and failing to reach Victor since Otabek had notified him of the loss of communication.

By five am it was confirmed that Katsuki was missing. Victor had been found in an ally near the club they'd visited; it had obviously been intended as a body dump, but the silver haired Russian was very, very difficult to kill. He'd been taken to the nearest hospital in critical condition, admitted under a false name.

  
“Your husband is dead.”

Katsuki breathed through his nose, focusing on the agony in his arm to keep himself calm. His head throbbed where he'd been struck, and his gun arm was broken at the wrist and elbow. The majority of the pain was coming from the way the broken arm had been tied to the chair he was sat on.

The voice had spoken with a soft, Korean accent, in perfect Japanese. Opening his eyes confirmed the identity of the speaker, and he let his head tilt back onto his shoulders, gazing up at the pale, elegant face of Seung-gil Lee.

“You don't care?”

Light glinted off the large meat cleaver held loosely in the hands of his kidnapper. Taking another deep breath and forcing the waves of fury and despair down into the very back of his mind, Katuski met the man's pretty black eyes.

“Would you like to take his place? You seem like my type.”

Seung-gil curled his lip in something approaching a smile. “Unfortunately, I prefer my men to be intact, and sound of limb. By the time we're done here, that will no longer be the case for you.”

  
The screams echoed through the disused factory, bouncing off pipes and dripping walls. Moving silently, Giacometti felt each scream like razorblades under his skin. He knew the preferred torture methods the Triads used. He dreaded how much of Katsuki they were likely to get back. At least if he was still screaming, he was still alive.

Around him, the Swiss was aware of his men clashing with Guang Hong Ji's security as they secured the exit points and pushed deeper into the building. Finding the location had only taken until midday; it helped that they already suspected who was responsible for the kidnapping. Crispino had been ruled out almost immediately.

Approaching the room at the end of the dank corridor, Giacometti put two silenced bullets into the men either side of the doorway, and then paused. He'd thought Katsuki's screams were punctuated by periods of silence, but this close he could hear the man whispering in Japanese. It sounded like a prayer.

After a few moments, a voice replied in the same language, and he tightened his grip on his gun. Seung-gil. Of course, he would do the actual work himself. He enjoyed it.

  
“I'm impressed, Katsuki kun. Very impressed. If I'd known you were this tenacious, I would have offered you a job years ago. But then, I suppose you were already involved with Nikiforov by then. A shame, really.”

Seung-gil leaned down and tilted the Japanese man's face up to him, watching as his eyes slipped in and out of focus. With a calm backhand, he slapped him awake and then gripped his jaw again.

“I have a terrible feeling that you're going to make me kill you slowly. I don't want that, Katsuki-kun. I want you to tell me what I need to know. Then I'll let you go quickly. I'll even be kind, and give you a bullet rather than letting you bleed out. What do you say to that?”

The answer was delivered in almost a whisper, livid red flecks spraying from his lips. “You're right... I... I think I should have met you before Victor... you're so much fun...”

“ _Hmm._ ” Seung-gil turned back to his tools and chewed his lip thoughtfully. He was running out of ideas. It was obvious that no amount of torture would get Katsuki to talk. Utterly unafraid of pain or death, he seemed to actually _enjoy_ some of it. It was a shame that they'd had no choice but to kill the Russian, torturing _him_ might have made one of them talk.

A soft sound outside gave Seung-gil a seconds warning, then the door was kicked from its hinges and exploded inwards.

The Korean anticipated the first shot, and threw his cleaver in the direction of the door as he dodged, sweeping his pistol from his holster in the same movement. Giacometti hit the floor hard and rolled, both pistols firing, but as he saw the glint in the black eyes of the other man, he knew he'd lost. They opened fire at the same time, and the room echoed with a rapid burst of gunshots.

  
“Otabek... c-can I come in?”

The Kazakh moved his shoulders slightly, giving mute permission. Yurio stepped into the cold morgue and gently encircled his waist with his arms, resting his chin on his shoulder. After a long moment, he felt Otabek cover his hand with his own.

“Katsuki's going to make it. He won't be... they c-couldn't save his arm. But he'll live.”

The blonde's voice was thick with tears, but he was holding himself together. Otabek nodded, never taking his eyes off the corpse in front of him.

“Go and pack your things” he said, his voice hollow. “We're taking Chris home to Bern tomorrow.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
> 
> Feel free to shout at me on tumblr @silvandar


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god I'm so ill right now. I apologise in advance if the next few days are a bit slow with updates.

Watching the snow falling silently outside the window, Yurio's thumb hovered _again_ over the 'call' icon, then pulled away for the fifth? sixth? time. His eyes felt suddenly hot and sore. Muttering under his breath, he scrubbed the gathering tears away with his wrist, hating himself for being so pathetic.

How had Otabek not cried? Not once? Not even during the lengthy, beautiful Catholic funeral in Bern, surrounded by weeping family members. The soft noise he'd made when his cousin had been sealed in the family tomb had been the closet he'd come to showing emotion.

Once they'd finished burying Giacometti, they'd flown directly to Moscow. Yurio hadn't even thought about the destination, he was so mired in his current grief and pain. Lorenzo was keeping him up to date on the healing process of the Katsuki-Nikiforovs, and he winced every time he received a message.

He couldn't bear the thought of talking to either one of them. It was just too painful.

Next to him, Otabek stirred in his sleep, muttering something unintelligible in Kazakh. He'd fallen into a nap as soon as they'd arrived in the Nikiforov dacha north of Moscow, trying to gather his strength for the meeting later that day.

Yurio's thumb skated over the call button and again shied away. He shook his head at himself and focused on the snow.

Moscow in December was best described as freezing, but out here in the countryside, nearly touching the arctic circle, that word seemed tame and friendly. The dacha included modern touches like under floor heating, but it was ultimately a soviet building that had been largely unused beyond a skeleton staff since Victor had moved to Milan. Drafts appeared unexpectedly from everywhere, and Yurio was sure he'd seen a bear exploring nearby on the drive in.

Sensing that Otabek was starting to wake up, Yurio let his fingers drift gently over his lover's hair and jaw, enjoying the warmth of the brunette's skin.

“You haven't called him yet.” It wasn't a question, and Yurio ducked his head in shame.

“I can't face it. I just... I just can't.”

“OK. I need to speak with him before the meeting with Uncle Yakov. Do you want to just listen in? You don't have to say anything.”

 

Katsuki answered the phone on the third ring, and in the background Yurio could hear Victor singing something in Russian, his tone soft. Some children's song about a spider, one that made vague, painful memories stir in the back of Yurio's mind. As he opened with the traditional Japanese “moshi moshi”, Victor's voice cut off and he shouted “Altin! How's the frozen north?”

Yurio thought he sounded tired.

“Frozen” Otabek replied, glibly. “Am I interrupting anything?”

“Niet. I'm teaching Yuuri how to sing in Russian.”

“He's singing _at_ me. It's punishment for me refusing to sing in Japanese.” The mental image of the two of them singing at each other was too adorably weird, and Yurio failed to bite back his laugh.

“Yurio? Ah, you're there too. How was Moscow?” It wasn't actually possible for Katsuki to be empathetic, but he was a good mimic. Yurio bowed his head sadly.

“As cold and ugly as I remember. I... I should have called you before now.”

Katuski made a noise that sounded like _I don't care but I also don't blame you_ and then the phone rustled as Victor dragged it closer to him. “We miss you. Both of you. When are you meeting the _pakhan_?”

“In an hour. I need to confirm some things with Katsuki before I do.”

“Of course, Altin dono. Whatever you need to know.”

“Seung gil Lee. You're sure he made it out alive?”

A noise from Victor, expressing disgust and fury. “Quite sure, Altin dono. He was injured, but it is unlikely he died from it.”

Yurio made a surprised noise, and Otabek pulled him into his arms. “Katsuki was able to free himself during the shootout with... with Christophe. Seung gil probably realised how fucked he was if Katsuki got his h... got hold of him. He escaped in the confusion.”

“You've been keeping Yurio in the dark?” Victor didn't sound amused, and Otabek shook his head before realising that he wasn't on video call.

“Not intentionally. We've been busy, and some details were unnecessary.”

“What else do you need to know, Altin dono.”

“Just one thing. The latest prognosis. For both of you.”

 

Yakov Feltsman was exactly as Yurio had imagined the head of the Bratski Krug to be; weathered, tattooed, unemotional and intelligent. He suffered Yurio's presence for about thirty seconds before passing the blonde into the care of his wife Lilia, and leading Otabek into his study. The sound of other voices floated out, including one that he recognised from phone calls as Georgi Popovich, Yakov's second. Turing his attention to the thin, sharp eyed woman leading him through Feltsman's much larger, much _warmer_ dacha, he wondered if Otabek or himself were likely to get a more thorough interrogation.

The partners and adult children obviously used these informal gatherings to socialise, play politics and keep a firm grip on their own areas of influence. They seemed to cover a staggering number of skill sets, from those obviously trained in combat, through to faces public enough for Yurio to recognise them on sight as actors, musicians, you name it. About thirty people milled around the kitchen and dining areas, talking in small huddles or just sat alone, checking their phones. As Yurio and Lilia entered, more than a few curious glances were thrown his way.

Lilia piloted him towards a striking red haired woman who smiled as they reached her. She was tall and had a lithe, aerobic build, the prettiness of her face marred by a deep scar running from her forehead, across the bridge of her nose, through her lip and down to jaw. Despite this, she seemed genuine as she greeted them. Introduced as Natasha Vankova, she was engaged to Georgi and comfortable in her role as an informal second to Lilia. She took Yurio under her wing immediately, and the next few hours were filled with interesting family stories and useful information. By the time he was escorted back to Otabek, Natasha had threatened to adopt him and Lilia ruffled his hair a number of times during their conversations. He'd also received contact details from all of the spouses, and become a wary but enthusiastic confidant to about half of them.

  
“Georgi is going to help me deal with Crispino. That old bastard must have figured out by now why Katsuki was attacked, that's assuming Guang Hong didn't outright tell him. Georgi's going to keep him too busy to come after us by aiding Dianya to dismantle his drug routes across Northern Europe.”

They had moved their official meetings into the lounge of the Milan estate for comfort reasons, and Yurio was tucked under Otabek's arm with Victor curled up on the opposite couch and Katsuki sat on the floor, positioned so the Russian could run his fingers through his thick, black hair.

“That leaves dealing with the Triads. Yakov agrees that it's time their influence in Italy was permanently removed.”

“Did Uncle tell you to fire me?” Victor asked, and Otabek chuckled.

“No, he complained as usual that I should have returned you years ago. He said I was in the shit for getting his favourite gun broken.”

Victor pulled a face and waved vaguely at his bandaged torso with his free hand. “You should ask for a refund. I broke too easily.”

Yurio made a small, sad sound of protest, and Otabek tightened his grip on him gently, planting a kiss on his forehead. “Laugh or cry” Victor said soothingly in Russian, and Katsuki tilted his head as if trying to translate it. He nodded agreement and then frowned, adding “why do Russians always laugh so easily?” Yurio and Victor both broke up at that, and Otabek raised an amused eyebrow.

“Sorry to bring the mood back down” he said after a few moments, “but Yakov did make a good point. I need a new second in command, and right now I don't have a very big pool of people to choose from.”

Victor pulled a face. “I hope you're not including me in that pool. I told you years ago that I didn't want that job, and I've not changed my mind. I'm not suited for command.”

“I'm well aware. Actually, I was thinking of your husband.”

It took a few moments for Katsuki to fully comprehend that, and when he did, he made a disgusted noise. Gesturing at the empty right sleeve of his sweater, his voice betrayed his grief as he replied “a cripple for an avtoritet? Altin dono, respectfully, you must be insane.”

Disengaging from Yurio, the Kazakh leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, locking eyes with the smaller man sat on the floor. “Victor is expected to make a full recovery and resume his normal role. Lorenzo has taken the job of head of security for Italy. I don't need your body, Katsuki. I need your mind.”

Victor tugged his husband's hair gently, nodding agreement. “You're intelligent and world wise enough to grasp the Business with only minimal training. Otabek and Dianya can't continue to absorb the Mediterranean side, it's too much work for them.”

“You will look weak. You look weak even keeping me on at all; you should have had me killed for failing to protect Giacometti.”

The immediate noises of disagreement from all three of the others was loud enough to make Katsuki wince.

“I'm not going over that again” Otabek said, and Yurio wondered just how that conversation must have gone. “Will you take the job?” He paused for a moment before adding “by the way, I'm not actually asking you; I'm telling you that you're taking the job. I hope you realise that.”

Katsuki couldn't find a respectful way to continue arguing, and his shoulders drooped as he gave in. “As you wish, Altin dono. Will I also remain as housekeeper?”

“No... you'll be too busy. I'll need to find someone else for that.”

“I'll do it.”

Three sets of eyes turned to stare at Yurio, and he resisted the urge to sink back into the safety of the couch. Tilting his chin, he met Otabek's gaze and shrugged. “Why not? Running our home is the least I should be doing.” Yurio raised an eyebrow at his astonished lover, challengingly.

“I should never have let Lilia get her claws into you” Otabek joked, but his eyes shone and his voice was throaty with pride.

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added a few more tags at the last chapter and now my new hits have ground to a halt XD Oh well. I'd prefer to warn people what they're getting!

Katsuki was an excellent teacher, with seemingly endless patience. Yurio suspected that was down to his inability to feel most emotions. In a few short weeks, the blonde was fully in control of the estate and its staff, and Katsuki had transitioned into Otabek's second in command.

The difference the change of housekeeper made to the house was astonishing.

Yurio had still been Otabek's 'employment' when he'd become friends with most of the regular staff. He learned their names, details about their families, how they enjoyed their free time, and he socialised with them in the house when he could. Through them, he'd come to understand the history and personalities of his employer and his men, and appreciate the complexities of the new world he'd stumbled into.

Once Otabek had made his feelings about the blonde clear, the staff had initially tried to pull away out of respect. Yurio had quickly taken steps to correct that, mostly by forcing his regular cohorts into spending time with him exactly as they had been up until then. Turning up at the midnight poker game Raul the mechanic ran had earned him a terrified wave of bowing and stammered apologies, only cut off when he slipped into his usual chair and dropped his chips on the table with a firm glare.

It had been a long process to make his friends understand that being loved by Otabek hadn't changed him as a person, but it had been worth every awkward glance and stammered conversation. That was never more apparent than in the reaction to his new role on the estate.

He'd heard that Katsuki had assembled the staff for a big speech when he'd taken over. Deciding from the beginning that he would be following Katsuki's tasks but not his methods, instead he'd sent out a text message from his personal phone. _'Just so you know, as of tomorrow Katsuki will be stepping down as housekeeper, and I'll be taking over. I'm not making any changes until I've learned the job, so for now just carry on as you are and come find me if you have any questions. I've stolen the west conservatory as my office, Katsuki's keeping his study for his new job. Ciao!'_ He'd finished the message with his usual sign off, a cute animated white tiger cub stamp.

His “office” was actually a project he'd had his eye on for a while. The west conservatory was large and mostly unused; some of the smaller potted plants wintered in there and there were a number of basic raised beds and tables, mostly unused and emptied of soil unless the gardening staff were growing new plants for the grounds. An unexpected gift from Otabek, a miniature rose bush apparently picked because it matched his hair colour, had fired up an interest in horticulture, and Yurio had stolen a corner of the warm, elegant room to grow his present in. South facing, the room got sun all year round, and had complicated blinds, heaters and vents to maintain a consistent temperature. When the weather was too hot, or too cold, he could usually be found reading from his tablet, curled up in the old leather couch next to his flourishing yellow rose.

In preparation for his first day as housekeeper, he moved a spare oak desk into the room and made a workspace for himself, keeping the couch for comfort but including some kitchen chairs and a few rugs and throws. A reshuffle of the plants, and he'd created a boho styled nook that made him smile every time he looked at it.

Katsuki had filled that time by talking, going over the details of the role as Yurio lugged furniture. The first time he'd moved to help, Yurio had given him a quick glance and then accepted his aid in rearranging the throws, not wanting to make him feel useless. The blonde made a mental note of the sweat beading on the smaller man's face and neck from the effort of moving a few chairs, and filed it away to talk to Victor about.

Once Katsuki had disappeared for his own first day lesson, Yurio had made himself comfortable on the couch and started working through the various spreadsheets that monitored the house budgets and staff rotas. That was where his first curious questioner found him, and after he'd been interrupted once, it seemed to encourage the others. By the end of the day, every regular member of staff and most of the security as well, had spent ten to fifteen minutes sat on the couch next to Yurio, discussing their roles in the house and making sure they weren't going to lose their jobs. There was a lot of laughter, helped by the relaxed atmosphere of the conservatory and the genuine warmth from the blonde.

By 10pm, usually the time he'd curl up with Otabek for the night, or with Katsuki for a hammer horror movie fest if their partners were out working, he'd only just managed to understand the staff rotas and his eyes felt like they'd been rubbed with salt. He stumbled through cleaning his teeth and was asleep before Otabek even finished up in the shower. To his credit, the sudden break in their otherwise regular sex life didn't seem to bother Otabek, although he did appreciate morning sex an awful lot more than usual.

Over the next month, the house became lighter and happier than Yurio had ever known it. Staff who had been almost mute under Katsuki's control started to openly relax and enjoy themselves as they worked. Beyond feeling comfortable enough to talk and laugh, Yurio encouraged them to supply him with their thoughts and ideas. One of the cleaners suggested adding fresh flowers to the guest suites when they were used, and Yurio was delighted when the head gardener responded with a list of seasonal varieties that were already growing on the estate. The head chef came forward with a long hidden request for a space in the side garden to grow herbs, and Raul offered to make him some raised beds to grow along the kitchen wall, which got much better sun. Yurio found the new dynamic between usually disconnected members of the staff delightful, and set up a suggestion box and chat room on the house server which was an instant hit.

 

After nearly six months of spending every day relaxing and finding his own entertainment, suddenly having a job again was a shock. Having a schedule set by the needs of others was fine, it was the long hours of concentration required that took its toll on his stamina. So it took nearly two weeks before he felt able to tackle Victor about Katsuki's health.

He cornered the tall Russian in the kitchen one afternoon, batting the hitman's hands away from the pastries the chef was trying to finish for breakfast the next day. Watching someone slap Victor with absolutely no repercussions freaked the chef out enough that he had to leave the room for a while, and Yurio took the opportunity to quiz the silver haired man.

“How's Katsuki doing?”

“Hmmm... he's coping. There's a lot for him to learn. He's also not used to delegation, so that's challenging him.”

“He delegates all the time” Yurio protested, and Victor made a face.

“Not... these sorts of jobs. He would usually deal with such things himself.”

_Ah._

“How is he... you know, physically? He helped me rearrange the conservatory and he seemed to struggle.” Holding his hands up in anticipation of Victor's reaction, he added “I didn't ask him to. But I figured refusing would make him feel bad.”

“Mmm. You're right, of course.” Victor sighed and stole another pastry, biting into it a little too aggressively. “He's as well as can be expected. We're waiting to see if he'll need another surgery, but...”

“But what?”

Victor sighed again, shaking his head. “You know how he normally copes with his anxiety issues, yes?”

Remembering the network of scars across Katsuki's torso and limbs, Yurio nodded. Victor scrunched up his nose unhappily. 

“He's not taking any pain medication. He hasn't done since he was taken off the IV.”

“ _What the fuck did you just say??”_ Yurio nearly screamed in horror, and Victor winced.

“I know, I know! It keeps him calm though, and I... I can't force him to take it.”

“ _Jesus christ, Victor._ Does his nurse know?”

“She does... she reacted much the same way as you.”

“Does _Otabek_ know?”

“No” Victor's head came up and he fixed Yurio with a stern look. The blonde had a sudden flash of what it might be like to see that look from the wrong end of a gun, and shivered. “You can't tell him. _Promise me_. Katsuki's not in the field, he can do his job. _Otabek doesn't need to know._ ”

“For fucks sakes... he may not _need_ to know, but if he finds out you're keeping this from him, he'll flip.” Yurio thought for a moment and then returned the glare with equal ferocity, making the trained hitman's jaw drop. “ _We._ We're keeping this from him, now. Fuck.”

Irked by the turn of the mood, Yurio picked up another pastry and stuffed it into Victor's open mouth. “You need to tell him” he decided, pouring himself a coffee and heading back towards his office. “Tell him, before someone else does. If you drop me in the shit with him, I'll take it out of your hide” he added, and Victor ducked his head in reluctant acceptance.

In the end, it only took one short, icy statement from Otabek to get Katsuki back on the pain medication. Katsuki was less than pleased though, and Victor was in the doghouse. He spent a week sleeping on the unused bed in Yurio's suite as punishment.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found the perfect song for Victor and Katsuki's relationship. I imagine this as Victor's perspective.  
> [Silver and Cold by AFI](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3k95h-zpenU)


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poll for everyone's favourite psychopath is now closed!

Alessandro Crispino died of natural causes in March, two months after the attack on Yuuri Katsuki. Many speculated that it was caused by the grief of losing most of his assets to the Bratski Krug, who he now knew were also responsible for the deaths of his children.

His nephew, Marcell Crispino, took over the remaining holdings but was assassinated shortly after. The drug overlords of the Camorra claimed his death and their swift move to absorb what was left of the Crispino empire surprised no one.

Clashes all across Europe raised Interpol's alert level twice in three months, and a small wave of manpower flooded in from Russia to reinforce Altin's own troops. To keep security tight, the estate outside of Milan became ground zero for the Brigade, with Dianya and Lorenzo becoming permanent residents alongside Altin, Katsuki, Victor and Yurio.

The support from Russia was essential, but escalated tensions across the board. The remaining Italian groups drew up battle lines and held themselves carefully neutral, waiting to see who would come out on top before risking any of their people.

Responding to the increase in criminal activity, international law enforcement set up various task forces to try and keep things under control. Katsuki responded by arranging some breathtakingly expensive bribes, successfully infiltrating almost all of them. He reported the Triads were doing the same.

As the violence between the Bratski Krug and Sun Yee On escalated, Otabek Altin focused on consolidating the new holdings on Italy and Northern Europe and instructed his three avtoritet to keep watch for movement from the other major players while he put together a plan to destroy Guang Hong Ji.

 

“Welcome back.”

Seung gil opened his eyes and searched out the owner of the voice. Opposite his hospital bed, Guang Hong was playing cards with one of his men. He gave the Korean a warm smile as he woke up.

Taking stock of his injuries, he tried to push himself into a seated position and failed miserably, his whole body giving an agonised scream of protest. Accepting the judgement of his nervous system and fighting off nausea, he leaned back into the pillow again and watched his boss lose the hand he was playing.

“Why why are you here? How... how am I still alive?”

Guang Hong tossed his cards down and gestured the guard out of the room.

“The bullets nicked your heart, shredded one of your lungs and narrowly missed cutting your spinal cord. You don't remember escaping the warehouse?”

“I remember shooting Giacometti and then realising that Katsuki had slipped free. He got several shots into me, but I made it out to the cars.” He paused, running his fingers over the bandages on his torso and checking in with his legs and arms, relieved to still be able to feel them after that brutal assessment of his injuries. “That man is a monster... He shot me with an arm broken in three places, while bleeding to death from what was left of his other shoulder. Tell me he died of his wounds?”

“Sadly not.”

“What the _fuck_??”

Guang Hong chuckled at the shock on his second in command's face. “Such a shame we didn't discover him first, he would've been an incredible asset. Still, your... modifications... have mostly taken him off the board as a physical threat, at least.”

“At least?”

“The Kazakh promoted him to second, and has been using him to disrupt our overland network since February. I was planning to repay Altin by taking his little blonde whore to pieces in front of him, but he's had the sense to keep Plisetsky safe on the estate.” Guang Hong sighed and glanced at his phone. “Every day I get a call updating me on our losses. Altin has stripped us nearly to the bone.”

“I don't understand... how does he have the manpower?”

“He's been pulling in favours from all over the old USSR. The Bratski Krug have closed ranks and funnelled a hell of a lot of support into Europe for him. They're trying to push Sun Yee On out of Italy, if not the whole of the EU. It's a full scale war out there. The May conference in Bejing was a clusterfuck, I'm still surprised I made it out alive.”

Seung gil stared at the Triad boss, his mouth opening and closing silently as he stuck on the word 'May'. When he managed to speak, his voice sounded tiny in his ears.

“ _What fucking date is it?”_

“Mmm... twenty second of May. You've been in and out of medically induced coma since the shooting. You're lucky I like you, the hospital bills have been appalling.”

Shaking his head made him feel more nauseous, so Seung gil settled for making a soft sound of confusion and protest. “Why... why have you done so much to heal me? Are... are you getting me well enough to send me to Bejing for execution?”

Guang Hong stared at him in astonishment for a moment, and then rolled his eyes. “Hardly. I'm not going to have you killed after spending that much money on you.”

“I couldn't get Katsuki to talk... and he survived... I failed you. Badly.”

“You _killed_ Christophe Giacometti! Bejing may want my head, but they want to give _you_ a commendation. Avenging the murder of Jun Saey Ying is pretty fucking big news.”

Seung gil's lip twitched in a tiny smile. “That did feel pretty good, I must admit. I'd wanted to put a bullet into that man for a year.”

Guang Hong stretched out in his chair, making his spine pop with a wince. “What else have you missed? Oh yes... the Crispino Family is off the board. Old man Crispino had a stroke once Altin started shredding his assets, and his successor was too weak to keep the wolves at bay. Everything they had is in the hands of either the Camorra, us or the Bratski Krug.”

Biting his lip, Seung gil thought about that and decided he needed time to process the massive gap in his mental timeline. Shifting subjects, he eyed his boss. Guang Hong was slender and underweight at the best of times, now he looked actually ill.

“How long have you been trying to run everything by yourself?”

“Longer than I wanted to” the head of the Italian branch of Sun Yee On retorted without heat, standing up and stretching again. He squeezed Seung gil's shoulder gently as he made his way to the door. “Heal and get back up to strength as soon as possible. I need you to distract Nikiforov while I murder Altin.”

“ _Nikiforov_?? He's... he's alive as well???”

“Oh yes. Very hard to kill, that man. Apparently he's baying for your blood. He seems to have taken your mutilation of his husband a bit personally.”

“Mmm. May I interpret distract as 'murder in an excessively painful way'?”

“Whatever you want. Consider him a project for when you're fully recovered.”

 

It took another three weeks for Victor to pick up on a rumour that Seung gil Lee had been seen during a drug deal in Milan. His explosion of rage lasted almost two hours, and the entire household hid from him. With one notable exception.

The Russian saw the message during a meeting, and immediately relayed it to the rest of the group, anger spiking in his voice. Otabek made soothing noises of agreement over the universal desire to murder Lee, calming the outrage of the others.

Victor _didn't_ calm down, and if anything seemed to be working himself into a larger rage as Otabek spoke. Even Yurio couldn't really understand all of his ranting, although he could pick up some of the words; Giacometti, Yuuri, murder, revenge, death.

Watching Victor closely, Dianya and Lorenzo exchanged worried looks as the silver haired hitman began pacing the room, snapping and snarling in fury. Otabek's eyes narrowed as he watched Victor's face contorting and blotching with hectic red and white patches. Yurio shrank back into his chair, the hairs rising on his neck. For the first time since they'd met, he felt like he was inches away from death by being in the same room as his friend.

Katsuki made the mistake of touching him to try and distract him and cut off the flow, and to the horror of everyone else in the room Victor immediately backhanded him so hard that he hit the wall beside Otabek's desk. Somewhere in the middle of his fury, Victor seemed to recognise that he was now an active threat to the others, and he kicked the door off its hinges as he left the room, heading in the direction of his suite.

Dashing to Katsuki, Yurio caught the looks between the other three as he helped the smaller man into a chair. Unsurprisingly, Katsuki looked perfectly calm and was actually smiling a little as he brushed blood from his lips. Otabek glanced at him and raised an eyebrow.

“I'm fine. That was my fault... stupid of me. I didn't realise just how far he'd gone.”

“Otabek” Dianya said, her voice uncharacteristically nervous, “do something before he kills half your staff.”

Grunting in annoyance, Otabek took off his suit jacket and tie, then dropped his gun onto the table. “I thought he'd got past this since you two got married” he commented to Katsuki, and the Japanese nodded. “So did I” he said, and Yurio stared in astonishment at the sadness in his usually unemotional voice. “Please don't kill him, Altin dono.”

“I'll do my best” Otabek replied, padding out of the room and heading towards the stairs.

Yurio stared after him for a moment, and then said to the room in general “what the hell is he _doing_?”

“Going to calm Victor down” Lorenzo said with a worried frown. “Don't get in the way!” he added as Yurio ran out of the room after the Kazakh.

 

Otabek paused and listened to the oaths and crashing sounds coming from the suite, his eyes narrowing after a few moments. He noticed Yurio following him and made a gesture, stopping the blonde from getting too close. Then with a grunt, he pushed both doors open and went in. The side table that was hurled at him as he entered the suite wasn't small, but he raised an arm and deflected it with a shrug.

“ _Get... Out...”_ Victor snarled. His hands were bleeding where he'd methodically destroyed the room, and his expression was livid with rage. He'd bitten through his own lower lip, and the blood running down his chin made him seem almost demonic. Yurio realised with terror that he was watching a trained murderer experience a complete psychotic break. His breath caught in his throat as Otabek crossed the room to stand in front of Victor, looking completely relaxed about the danger he was deliberately putting himself in.

The taller man reacted instantly as someone stepped in front of his vision, making a grab that would have ended up with his hands around the throat of probably anyone else in the house. However, Otabek was clearly expecting the attack and he was also faster than the hitman. He dodged out of the way, letting Victor overextend to the side. As he corrected his balance and squared up for another attack, the Russian snarled something unintelligible but aggressive.

The Kazakh's response was to punch Victor in the face.

It was the kind of punch shown in American action movies. Victor barely rocked from the impact; instead he just folded at the knees and collapsed onto the floor.

Without a pause, Otabek picked him up by the front of his shirt, assessed him for a moment and then punched him in the face again. The impact of the second one sent him flying across the room to crash into the door Yurio was cowering behind. As he slid to a halt, the blonde could see his eyes roll up into his head.

Kneeling next to the unconscious hitman, Otabek tilted his chin and checked his pulse. Satisfied that Victor was still alive, he looked up at Yurio and smiled as he saw the awestruck expression on the blonde's face.

“My _god_ Beka. You hit like a train.”

“Mmm. Did I frighten you, my love?”

Yurio shook his head, stepping into the room and resting a hand on the Kazakh's shoulder. “You never frighten me” he said softly, and Otabek stood up to pull him into a rough kiss. Separating after long moments, Yurio nipped his lover's jaw as he purred “let's save this conversation for later... in private?”

Otabek grinned at him, then a horse gasping sound drew their attention back to Victor as the Russian stirred. One of his eyes was already beginning to swell, and his nose had been flatted to a bloody smear, making him snuffle as he tried to speak. He groaned and clutched his head, pulling his knees up to his chest as if warding off another blow.

“Relax. Breathe.” Otabek knelt next to him again, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“Wh...” Victor spat a mouthful of blood and shattered teeth as he tried to speak. “What happened?”

“You had an Episode.”

“Oh... oh fuck. _Fuck._ Did I kill anyone?”

“No, but I haven't seen you that bad for years. You punched Katsuki across the room. Might want to buy him some flowers” Otabek added, watching the horror spread across Victor's face. He pushed silver hair out of the hitman's eyes gently and shook his head.

Tears mingling with blood as he leaned back against the splintered door, Victor shook his head. “I... I'm sorry...”

“Don't be” Otabek stood up, gripping Victor by the wrists and pulling him upright. The taller man staggered a little, and then let the Kazakh steer him in the direction of the bathroom. “Clean up and go to bed for a bit. I'll check Katsuki's OK then send him up.”

“No... please... I can't... he can't...”

“Shhh... you'd never evade him if he wanted to kill you. Best to just get the apologies out the way. You'll probably hurt him worse during the make up sex anyway.”

Victor protested for another moment, then gave up and let Otabek push him towards the sink. Splashing cold water on his face, he gasped in pain as he cleaned off most of the blood. His nose was a ruin, and with a wince he said “If he's mad at me he can help me reset this. _Again._ ”

Chuckling, Otabek handed him a towel. “You two are so fucked up” he pointed out, and Yurio nodded agreement before he could stop himself.

“Do... do you know what set me off?” Victor asked, and the blonde gaped at him. _He doesn't remember?_ Otabek didn't seem surprised by the question, however.

“You found out that 'the Korean' was alive and still active in Milan” he said, carefully avoiding using the man's name. Victor stared at him and then covered his face with his hands.

“Yuuri... he's the one who should be angry... and I hit him...”

“Stop that” Otabek replied sharply. “Yuuri Katsuki couldn't experience a genuine emotional response if his life depended on it, and you know it. And judging by his reaction, he actually enjoyed the punch.”

Helplessly, Victor sat down on his bed, his head still in his hands. Otabek softened his tone and rested his hand in Victor's thick, silver hair. “I need you functional and ready to go after the Korean _when I give the word_ , not a minute before. Will you do that for me?” Getting no response, he shook him by the hair gently. “ _Victor, answer me_ ” he said, putting more authority into his voice.

“I... I understand, cousin. I.. I'll be ready.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Murder husbands for life!
> 
> Yurio is on Guang Hong's radar O_o oh noooo.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're nearly at the end now. It's been a wild ride. I'm expecting to get the last chapter up tomorrow. 
> 
> I've been totally overwhelmed by the love and support for this fic. I can't express in words what they mean to me. I just squeak like a happy ratto every time I see a new message in my inbox. Thank you all for the kudos and comments.

Balancing his laptop and coffee cup in his left hand as he pushed the door to Otabek's study open with his hip, Katsuki paused as the others in the room glanced up. The usually informal gatherings had an air of tension today that made his hackles rise. “I missed something” he guessed, and took his usual seat on Victor's knee.

“The Beijing leadership of Sun Yee On has offered the Pahkan a truce” Otabek said carefully, and Katsuki gripped Victor's shoulder so hard that skin broke under his nails. The Russian didn't even flinch, only pressed his nose against Katsuki's chest. His breathing was too fast and his limbs were shaking with the effort of remaining calm.

“Nothing Beijing has offered is particularly appealing, but we can't afford an endless war against the Triads” the Kazakh continued, eyeing Victor and assessing the likelihood of an explosion. “Seventeen of our men dead in the last three months, and over six million euros worth of drugs and weapons either stolen or destroyed. The Triads probably had similar losses. Guang Hong is pulling in support from China just as we are from Russia. He's matching us move for move, and both groups are being bled dry. It's unsustainable.”

The door opened and Yurio slipped into the room, nodding to Otabek and then curling up in his usual seat. As he acknowledged the blonde, Otabek rested his chin on his hands, his tone serious. “Yurio has managed to get us one chance to take out Seung gil and Guang Hong, before Yakov accepts the deal.”

Victor stopped breathing at the mention of the Korean's name, and Katsuki shifted his hand to the back of his husband's neck, applying firm pressure to the top of his spine. If the hitman was going to lose it, he'd have about two seconds to turn that pressure into an incapacitating grip. He wasn't happy about his chances of managing it left handed, but he wasn't about to let him have another episode in front of Altin.

Yurio spoke up from his spot in the corner, watching Victor with a curious mixture of affection and wariness. “Guang Hong has just invested in a nightclub in Berlin, attempting to use Northern Europe as his base of operations now Katsuki has made the Mediterranean too dangerous for him. He's hosting a formal opening for it in two weeks time. It's an elite club, with a short invite list; mostly Triads, Italian Mafia and a few other interested parties. The Korean is also on the list.”

Sitting back, an oddly satisfied look crossed his face. “I've obtained invitations for Otabek, Victor and myself, under false names and IDs of course. Each of us has a plus one, so we can have up to three guards with us. Theoretically, until we actually arrive there, Guang Hong won't know we're coming. Once we're in the club, he'll send reinforcements of course, but we'll have the element of surprise and should be able to move on him before they get there. I've made a couple of contacts within the staff” the blonde added, “we'll know exactly when Guang Hong and the Korean are inside the venue.”

Otabek smiled at the blonde, his expression gentle. “Thank you, Yuratchka” he murmured, and the blonde smiled slightly at the pet name before his eyes darkened and he looked at the Katsuki-Nikiforovs.

“My pleasure. I take it seriously when someone hurts my friends” he replied, and Katsuki felt Victor shift position underneath him, starting to breath normally again as he got his anger under control, calmed by the affection Yurio was radiating for the two of them.

“Guang Hong is absolutely expecting us to make a move before Yakov signs the truce” Lorenzo pointed out, “he just doesn't know where. It's probable that this public appearance is an attempt to draw us out.”

“Probably. I got my hands on the invite lists and staff numbers for the night” Yurio said, and Otabek made a proud noise. “He's doubled his security, but he's also got twice the numbers he'd need for running the place. My guess is he'll disguise his men as servers, bar staff and so on. The invite list are all major players who will also have their own security.”

“Katsuki, you need to check everyone on that list” Otabek leaned back in his chair, his eyes slightly unfocused as he worked through scenarios in his head. “We need to know how they'll react to the club becoming a battlefield. Anyone who is likely to decide to take sides needs to be... discouraged... from attending.”

“What about external threats?” Lorenzo asked, looking up from the notes he was making on his phone. “I'd expect the response time to an emergency call from Guang Hong to be terrifyingly fast.”

“Once we're inside the club, you'll need to blanket the district with our men. Control every exit and entrance, and prevent the Triads from getting reinforcements anywhere near us.”

“So we go to this place and hope we're not killed like rats in a trap?” Victor asked, doubtfully, and Otabek shook his head.

“No. We go in knowing we're the rats, and we spring the trap on our terms. We leave enough firepower outside the club to level a small city, and prevent them from escaping or bringing in any more men. You deal with the Korean however you like, I kill Guang Hong.”

Victor's lip curled unpleasantly. “I have very detailed plans for that man” he almost purred, and the responding smile from Katsuki was even more terrifying that the Russian's.

“Yakov will be blamed for anything we do” Dianya pointed out, shuddering slightly at the expressions on the faces of the murderous couple.

“Beijing won't want to admit that Guang Hong let us walk into his city with a small army” Otabek disagreed. “No matter what happens to us, Yakov can pursue the truce in good faith and maintains face.”

“On the subject of an army” Katsuki pulled up some figures on his laptop with a frown “how many men are you planning to field? I can pull some resources temporarily, but if the Pahkan really intends to be neutral in this, we should avoid using his people.”

As the conversation turned to logistics, Yurio rested his head against the arm of the sofa, watching the people in the room. In a little over a year, these people had become his friends, then his family. Now, he was going to walk into a battle beside them.

The empty chair in the corner of the room seemed to be watching over them all. No one had used it since Giacometti died, and it had a presence of its own while they were discussing war.

“I should go in place of Yurio” Katsuki's voice snapped his attention back, and the blonde blinked. “He's only barely firearm trained, and he's never so much as seen combat. He'll be helpless, and probably terrified. I will be effective, even if I'm relying on my stupid hand to shoot.”

The blonde flushed at Katsuki's words, and Otabek pressed his fingertips against his lips. He had been dreading having to explain this part of the plan.

“You're right about all of that, but he has to come. This entire thing depends on making Guang Hong risk striking us when he sees the opportunity. He has to think we're outnumbered and outgunned. If you and Victor walk into that club beside me, he'll bolt. The Korean might still try his luck, but Guang Hong isn't stupid. He knows what you two would do to him if you caught him.” He took a deep breath and forced himself to continue speaking. Otabek Altin was the most powerful avtoritet in the Bratski Krug, and he would use any and all advantages he had. Even if it broke his heart to do it.

“Yurio will make us look vulnerable” he explained. “ He's been on the target list for the Triads since February, and Guang Hong knows I've been keeping him safe here. He'll make a play, if only to try and get hold of him.” The Kazakh deliberately looked at Victor and Katsuki, not daring to make eye contact with the blonde. He'd likely be terrified or furious, and Otabek couldn't deal with either without breaking down completely.

Katsuki made a disgusted noise, and Victor looked horrified. “I made a mess of his second in command” Katsuki agreed. “They'll want to repay that with interest. Even if Guang Hong were inclined to bolt at the sight of you two, the temptation of killing or kidnapping Yurio would probably be worth the risk.”

“You don't plan to use Yurio as bait?!” Victor's voice sounded strangled, and Otabek closed his eyes, forcing his face to remain still and emotionless. He'd wrestled with the logic of it for days after Yurio had told him about the nightclub opening. Since February, there had been four attempts to get to the blonde, one actually on the estate itself. The Triads wanted payback, and were going after what they viewed as Otabek's weak spot.

The silence stretched out at Victor's question, until the blonde uncurled from his chair, leaning forward and looking directly at the Kazakh.

“I'm glad you decided that by yourself. I was worried we were going to have to have another screaming row before you saw it my way” he commented, and Otabek's eyes slammed open. Looking over at the blonde, he felt a fresh wave of desire wash over him as he saw the determined expression on his lover's face. Every time he thought he could deal with how beautiful and fearsome Yurio was, the blonde did something new to knock the wind out of him.

Yurio took in the astonishment on the rest of their faces and sighed. “For intelligent, ruthless people, you can be incredibly stupid. Did you really think I put myself on the invitation list _by accident_?”

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: violence, death, spiking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter. This has been a wild ride. I'm probably going to give the whole thing a final polish in a few days, but I won't be changing anything important. Just, you know, making the grammar and verb choices Not Suck.

As they entered the nightclub, Yurio pressed himself tighter under Otabek's arm. The three guards with them were stern faced, but Otabek seemed relaxed and Victor was positively glowing with enthusiasm. Probably something to do with the foot long blade he was concealing in his coat. He'd been so intensely absorbed in sharpening it in the limo that Otabek had jokingly scolded him for being a knife pervert.

Their invitations had been accepted on the door without question, as had their fake ID's, but once they'd hit the club itself they had been recognised by a number of the staff and other guests. Working from Victor's planning, Yurio had deliberately booked their group a booth with a dance stage. The reduction of exits and line of sight would neutralise snipers, and the body of a dancer would further block a successful attack from range.

As they settled into the booth and ordered drinks, Yurio deliberately positioned himself on the right of Otabek, putting Victor on his left and leaving himself looking exposed and vulnerable. He noticed a number of serving staff make their way towards a reserved, roped off area, and a few moments later a raven haired, Asian man appeared at the entrance. His dark eyes narrowed as he surveyed the group, and then he disappeared back into the booth with a smirk. Seung Gil Lee.

Victor had also noticed the Korean, and Otabek was talking very rapidly to him, gripping his arm firmly. The Russian was bordering on manic, and Yurio bit his lip nervously. The attack required delicate timing, but a Victor shaped loose canon was one of the few things they'd predicted but been unable to coherently plan for.

Their attention was drawn by the approach of a dancer. Yurio's mouth dropped slightly open, and then he leaned back in his chair with a smirk. Guang Hong had just made his first move. The game was on.

The slender, blonde dancer could have been Yurio's twin, except he had dark eyes and his hair was obviously dyed. Otabek ran his eyes over the young man, and curled his lip in slight disgust, slipping an arm around his lover and pulling him closer to him.

“He's trying to piss me off” he muttered, and Yurio purred softly in his ear.

“Move and countermove. Don't let anyone drink anything until I give the OK.”

“What are you thinking, my love?”

“He's trying to distract you. I expect he'll use more than just sex... I thought he might try something like that, so I dressed accordingly” he added, tapping his nails on Otabek's arm. The Kazakh looked down and blinked, confused.

“Why are you wearing red nail varnish? You don't usually go for anything brighter than 'nearly black'.”

“It's special nail varnish. Just hush and enjoy the dancer.”

Otabek sneered and buried his nose in Yurio's hair, pressing his lips against his ear. “What dancer? All I can see is you” Otabek murmured softly, letting his eyes drift over the rest of the club. The intention was to only feign distraction, but he couldn't help but think of the previous evening.

  
Otabek had been late coming upstairs, and had been so tightly wound even after a hot shower that Yurio had ordered him straight onto the bed for a massage. Burying his face into the pillow as he felt the talented blonde working on the knots in his shoulders, he'd been unprepared for the rush of emotion as his body was forced to relax.

As his lover closed his eyes and scrubbed tears into the pillow, Yurio stopped his massage and curled up on his back, wrapping his arms around his chest and linking their fingers as Otabek wept, holding him wordlessly as his grief, anger and stress _finally_ poured out of him in silent sobs that shook his entire frame. The Kazakh cried for long minutes, gradually subsiding into tiny snuffles as he hid his face.

Yurio waited until he was completely still, and then uncurled from him and pushed Otabek's hair out of his eyes, feathering kisses over his forehead and cheeks until his lover rolled over onto his back to kiss him properly. As he felt strong arms encircle him, he added in nips until Otabek's lips and throat were puffy and bruised, letting his hips move in languid circles as he let his weight press down onto his lap. The Kazakh hardened quickly at his teasing, and the kisses deepened until their tongues were dancing. Successful in swapping tears of stress for kisses filled with desire, Yurio smiled as he sank his fingers into Otabek's thick brown hair.

“I love you” Yurio told him, running his lips down his throat and over his chest. “Whatever happens to us tomorrow, I don't regret anything. I would die a hundred times, just to spend a single night with you.”

“You always say what I'm thinking” Otabek murmured, his voice roughened by his tears. “I love you. If we fail tomorrow, I will die loving you.”

There were no more words for a very long time after that, they let their bodies speak for them instead. Their love making was tender as they wrapped around each other, lost in the gentle bliss of touching, holding and stroking. They rocked together into orgasm, their moans soft and breathless, speaking each others names like a prayer.

  
Watching the waiter set down three large glasses and a sealed bottle of chilled vodka, Yurio was impressed. He could see the slight sheen on the liquid, and guessed that the drugs had been injected through the seal, but he only picked it up due to a lifetime of being abused and drugged by both employers and Johns. Any of the other men at the table would have assumed the glasses to be at risk of spiking, and they would have swigged directly from the bottle in bravado, thinking they were being clever.

He pushed himself to the edge of the couch and snapped the seal on the bottle, pouring three generous measures into the glasses. Holding his glass in his lap, he gave Otabek a deliberately salacious smile and then swirled his index finger into the liquid, pretending to lick it clean. Leaning in to kiss the Kazak flirtatiously, he watched the nail varnish closely, hiding his fingers against Otabek's neck.

After a few moments, the deep red faded to a light pink. He smirked a little into the kiss, and Otabek moved his lips to his throat so the blonde could murmur in his ear.

“The vodka's drugged. Rohypnol, most likely. Fake taking a drink, and don't let any stay on your lips for more than a few seconds. After five minutes, all three of us should start to look relaxed and a bit sleepy” Yurio instructed, hiding the discoloured nail in his palm.

“You constantly amaze me” Otabek said, kissing him softly then leaning back and handing Victor a glass. In Russian, he filled the hitman in on Yurio's instructions, and then they deliberately clicked their glasses together and faked a companionable sip.

“Guang Hong is an honourless coward” Otabek murmured, but Yurio wondered about that. Attempting to spike his prey before attacking them hinted at a deep level of desperation and anger from the Chinese. It seemed the Triad leader was as unhappy about the incoming truce as Otabek was.

Letting himself snuggle back into Otabek's arms, Yurio listened to his quiet conversation with Victor, and watched the dancer. The young man had tensed visibly when they had taken their “drink”, and as they allowed their bodies to appear more relaxed, his movements became slightly erratic and out of sync with the music. Not enough to notice, unless you were a trained dancer who was watching out for it.

“Any minute now” Yurio murmured in Otabek's ear, faking a large yawn. “The dancer's terrified. He's hiding it well, but he knows what's coming and he's ready to hit the deck any moment.”

Otabek nodded and deliberately rested his cheek against Yurio's head, eyes hooded. When the first shot rang out across the room, his reaction was so fast that Yurio only registered being thrown after he'd landed halfway across the booth.

The first shot also sent the dancer leaping off the stage, cowering under the table. Before Otabek had even finished drawing his weapon he was moving, darting sideways and using the side of the booth as cover. The wood panels splintered, but it was enough and Otabek returned fire, cutting down men left and right.

The three guards had their assignments – two of them immediately opened fire towards the crowd, sending any remaining enemies running for cover as the majority of the guests fled or were hit in crossfire. The third guard, an imposing Russian named Sergei, grabbed Yurio and pulled him deeper into the booth, kneeling in front of him and blocking any possible line of sight on the blonde.

Victor had disappeared entirely, only the sound of gunfire coming from the direction of the private booth indicating his location. Yurio hadn't even noticed him go.

Hugging his own gun to his chest, his heart pounding in his ears, Yurio tucked himself in behind his bodyguard. A bullet whipped past them and the weeks of drilling with Victor kicked in despite his terror; he returned fire in that direction and his stomach turned as he saw the gunman fall. Shame and fear overtook him and he vomited, somehow managing to keep hold of his weapon. Scrubbing his lips clean, he saw another man fall, and then Sergei was dragging him out of the booth and towards the closest of their scouted exits.

There were hardly any people left in the club now, and the Triads that remained were trying to get a line of sight on Otabek. The Kazakh was on the opposite side of the booth, his silenced custom revolver coughing death at anyone trying to reposition on him. His two men lay where they had been cut down, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

The smell of burning hit Yurio's nose then, and he screamed a warning at Sergei as something exploded nearby. They both ducked as shrapnel from a keg turned the nearby bar into splinters, and other warning pops and whistles began coming from closer to the door, where a fire was burning out of control.

A flurry of movement from the left, and Yurio caught a glimpse of Guang Hong Ji surrounded by three guards, making for the same exit Sergei had chosen. They were trying to cut off their escape, and despite the toll the Bratski Krug were taking on his men, Guang Hong was grinning. A startled oath from Otabek made Yurio's head whip around, and he instantly understood the savage look on the Triad leader's face.

In the centre of the room, completely ignoring the gunfire all around them, Victor Nikiforov and Lee Seung gil squared up to each other.

The Korean was holding what looked like a large meat cleaver, discoloured with dried blood. He raised the filthy blade to his lips and pressed a delicate kiss against it. Very clearly, in Italian, he called across to Victor “let's not lower ourselves to guns. I've been saving this since I met your husband. I didn't want to clean it before I could show it to you.”

Victor didn't break eye contact with Seung gil as he tossed his gun away and dropped into a murderous stance, drawing his machete. His normally blue eyes were almost black with hatred, and his lips were contorted into a snarl. Yurio felt his stomach clench painfully as he suddenly understood the meaning of the dried blood on the weapon.

Using the distraction to cross the room, Otabek unloaded a clip in the direction of Guang Hong, focused on moving their fight as far away from the impending clash of psychopaths as possible. Two of the men dropped as the Triad leader jumped for cover behind an upturned table. He returned fire as his last bodyguard ran to block their exit.

Ducking and weaving, Otabek reached Yurio's side and pushed him and Sergei towards the door. As he ran, the blonde risked a glimpse behind him and fought down the urge to throw up again as he saw Seung gil's cleaver bury itself into Victor's shoulder. Seemingly unaware of the pain or the wound, the Russian closed one hand around the Korean's throat and _slowly_ pushed the entire length of his blade up under Seung gil's ribs. Clinging to his killer, the Korean spat blood into Victors face as he died.

Sergei was wrestling with the bodyguard at the door as Otabek moved in the direction of Guang Hong's makeshift cover. The Kazakh held his free arm tight to his chest, and Yurio realised with horror that in the chaos, his lover had taken a bullet. Showing no hesitation, Otabek kicked the table to pieces and snarled in rage as he realised his target had moved again.

The last Triad went down as Sergei kicked him away from the door, and then the Russian bodyguard grabbed Yurio's arm. A gunshot went off astonishingly close behind them and the grip on his wrist yanked him through the open door as his bodyguard fell, his chest obliterated. Fighting to keep his balance, Yurio wrenched himself free of the dead man and stared in disbelief at the scene outside the club.

Bodies littered the alleyway, Triads and Bratski Krug alike. Both ends were sealed by black, unmarked cars, and the exchange of gunfire between them stuttered to a halt as the combat spilled out of the club.

A wave of heat and pressure slammed into Yurio from behind and threw him towards the centre of the alley, hissing with pain from the flash burn. Scrambling to his feet, he saw Otabek had been flung farther down the alley, towards his men. He picked himself up, his suit singed and his hair smouldering. Something much bigger had exploded inside the club and Yurio whirled, looking frantically for Victor. There was no sign of the Russian, but the distraction cost the blonde dearly.

Yurio screamed in shock as a hand clenched painfully in his hair, the iron grip holding him upright as his legs were kicked out from under him. In seconds, his gun was booted from his hand and his arms pinned behind his back. A searing line across the base of his throat suggested the presence of a blade, and he felt hot breath on his cheek. With an effort, Yurio managed to turn his head and saw the soot stained profile of Guang Hong Ji.

“ _Altin!”_

Fighting helplessly against the hold, Yurio saw Otabek's expression change from the grim, brutal killer he had been moments before to a mix of terror and despair at the sight of the blonde in the hands of his hated enemy.

“Drop your _fucking_ weapon, Altin.”

Aware that tears of pain were streaking down his own face, he could only managed a muffled “ _no!”_ through the hand over his mouth as Otabek tossed his revolver aside, but his meaning must have been apparent; Guang Hong laughed at him and pressed the knife harder into his neck, making wet heat slip down his skin. Somewhere close by, Yurio heard police sirens. The Triad leader heard them too, and cursed in Chinese, backing up towards his men at the south exit of the alleyway, and dragging Yurio with him.

“I'm going to send this one back to you in pieces” Guang Hong sneered. “I'd prefer to stay and kill him in front of you, but it looks like we're out of time.”

Growling in rage, Otabek started to advance but halted again when the knife bit deeper into Yurio's collarbone. The cry that came from the blonde's was half pain, half terror as he tried to break the grip around his wrists.

“Stop struggling or you die right now” the Triad snarled, and as he took his attention off Otabek, several things happened at once.

A body soared out of the club and landed between the two leaders. Guang Hong made a noise of pure rage as the mutilated corpse of his second in command slid to a halt at his feet, distracting him for a crucial moment. The knife against Yurio's throat relaxed, and the blonde realised with a savage elation that he could _move_.

Shouting in pain, the Triad leader stumbled as Yurio slammed his head backwards, cracking the top of his skull into Guang Hong's nose. The hold on his wrists weakened as they hit the ground together, the blonde contorting his body to try and wriggle free. A low roar nearby told Yurio that his lover had responded to the desperate move, and was heading towards them at a run. As they rolled sideways, Guang Hong flung out his hand and grabbed at a weapon lying on the floor. Levelling it at the charging Kazakh, Guang Hong pulled the trigger with a savage grin.

Yurio didn't hesitate.

Agony bloomed in his chest and took over every part of his awareness as he dived in front of the bullet meant for Otabek, and he tasted hot, coppery blood. Guang Hong's face disappeared into a red mist as the firefight between the cars resumed, and somewhere nearby he could hear his lover making terrible sounds of rage and horror as he reached them. As he felt Otabek drag him out of the crossfire and back towards their escape route, his eyes rolled back in his head and he lost consciousness.

His last thought was relief that the Kazakh was alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's an epilogue. Please don't leave comments hating on me until you've read it! <3 <3 <3


	20. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for your support throughout this project. The comments, kudos and love has made me feel so confident in my writing and my creativity. Thank you <3

The jeweller laid a tray in front of the Kazakh, and he frowned at the ostentatious gold rings. Ugly, oversized gems with garish cuts, or impossibly delicate and feminine bands that looked as fragile as glass. Nothing close to what he wanted.

“What's wrong with _these_ ones” Victor sighed. “You do realise this is the last decent jewellers in _Italy_ you've not tried. If you can't pick one here, we're going to have to leave the country.”

Otabek made a distressed noise in the back of his throat, then shook his head. “Not enough gold... but too yellow. And not enough diamonds. Or emeralds. But not small enough either.”

“Oh for gods sake, man” Victor threw his hands up in the air. “If he's anything like Katsuki, he'll never even wear the thing once you're married.”

“He's nothing like Katsuki, thank you very much. If I get it right, he'll wear it everywhere. He likes engagement rings more than wedding rings; he once joked that they're the prettiest thing a man can wrap his head around buying that isn't underwear.”

Victor rolled his eyes. “You two are so _weird_ ” he said, with feeling. The startled, slightly hysterical laugh from the Kazakh made a few nearby customers look at them nervously.

The jeweller made a small, inquisitive noise, flinching slightly when both men turned their full attention to her. “May I show you something... slightly different?” she asked, indicating a much smaller tray in a heavily locked cabinet. Victor and Otabek peered at the new offerings and Victor hooked his arm around the Kazakh's neck with a grin, giving him a little shake of delight. The ring Otabek immediately fixated on was so expensive there wasn't even a price range on the display, but that was irrelevant compared to the beauty of the soft gold gleam and the sparkle of a dozen tiny stones.

“That one” Otabek said, and Victor nodded. “It's perfect” the Russian agreed.

“Would you like to look at finance options?” she asked, and then paled slightly as Otabek shook his head and Victor opened his briefcase to reveal stack after stack of hundred Euro notes.

  
“I wanted to ask you something.”

Yurio glanced up from his book, eyebrow already raised at the tone. The Kazakh sounded almost _nervous_. Folding down his page corner, he stretched out a little and then put his chin on his hand. “What is it, my love?”

He wasn't prepared for Otabek to kneel next to the sun lounger, and he sat bolt upright in shock as the brunette pulled a very small, very _expensive_ looking jewellery box from his pocket.

“Beka... what...”

“Don't talk for a minute... let me get this out.” Yurio stared at him, covering his mouth with his hand reflexively. “I know this probably seems out of the blue... but I've been thinking about it for a while... well, over a year, really. C-Christophe suggested it first... anyway... god I'm babbling” the Kazakh shook his head in disgust at himself, and Yurio gently ran his fingers through his thick, brown hair, forcing himself to stay silent as the taller man collected his thoughts.

Taking a deep breath, Otabek ran his thumb over the thick, jagged scar that ran along Yurio's collarbone, then moved his fingers down to the blonde's chest, resting his hand over the larger scars hidden beneath the fabric of his shirt. He fought overwhelming emotion, and only risked speaking again when he was sure he could manage it coherently.

“I've loved you since the day I met you... and... and I thought I knew what my feelings were for you... I thought that I was happy with us the way we were.” He paused, taking Yurio's right hand and twisting their fingers together gently. “When you nearly died to save my life, everything I thought I knew went out the window.”

Yurio realised he'd stopped breathing and forced himself to inhale. Otabek laughed a little. “That's exactly how you made me feel when I first saw you” he said, and smiled at the flush spreading across the blonde's face as he opened the box, revealing the engagement ring he'd spent three months agonising over.

The ring was a stunning double gold band in a complicated twist, scattered with a mixture of tiny diamonds and emeralds; it was probably worth the annual income of a small country. At this moment, Yurio would have been just as overjoyed at a ring made from a jelly sweet.

“Yuri Plisetsky... will you marry me?”

Wrapping his arms around Otabek's neck, Yurio was proud of himself for the way he controlled the urge to unleash a high pitched scream, settling for breathing a soft “ _yes”_ into the Kazakh's ear.

The screams came from the house instead, and they both looked up to see Victor and Katuski hanging out of the nearest window, cheering wildly at them and hugging each other.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Come and say hi on Tumblr](http://silvandar.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> [links to art and Social Media accounts](https://linktr.ee/artofbeccaj)
> 
>  
> 
> The poll for everyone's favourite psychopath is now closed, and the winner is our little serial killer, Yuuri Katsuki. Check out the series link for his ficlet!  
> [Cis hetero Seung-gil Lee x OC slow burn fans, click here!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16400234)  
> [Click here for kinky canon!Otayuri](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1144475)


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